The Dark Horse
by Seriously Sam
Summary: What is a father supposed to do when he hears whispers that his 15-year-old son is tainted by the thing that killed the love of his life? John Winchester uncovers the terrifying truth about his son's cruel destiny and will stop at nothing to protect him.
1. Tragedy Meets Choices

Title - The Dark Horse

Summary - What is a father supposed to do when he hears whispers that his fifteen-year-old son is tainted by the very thing that killed the love of his life? John Winchester uncovers the terrifying truth about his youngest son's cruel destiny and will stop at nothing to protect him from the truth.

_Part of __**The Dark Horse**__ series_

**"The Dark Horse"**

**"Chapter One: Tragedy Meets Choices"**

'Once upon a time' was not a phrase in John Winchester's vocabulary. The simple phrase that starts out nearly every fairy tale meant a happy ending was bound to follow a long, winding road. Except there was no such thing as a happy ending. There was only death at the end of every story. So the absurdity of 'once upon a time' lies within the fact that there never _was_ once upon a time. No, there was rather a 'tragedy struck and choices were made'. That was the mentality of John. Tragedy meets choices - that was how he lived.

John vowed he'd never step foot in the place again, but a tragedy struck and he needed to make a choice. It had been three years, and he still felt the weight of guilt residing on his shoulders. He was uncertain if he could face them, but he knew he didn't have a choice in the matter. The Harvelle's Roadhouse was the only place that could help him find Douglas Hale and Ben Seraph. They were the only people who held answers on what happened to Mary.

Mary told him long ago, about how her parents had died in a fire when she was just a baby. Her life then went on to traveling the countryside with her big brother Ben and her uncle Douglas. John didn't know much about the duo except that they positively loathed the fact that Mary settled down and started a family. He'd only met the pair a couple times and none of those times was pleasant.

Cutting the engine to the Impala, John leaned back into the leather bench seat as he stared up at the building. It had taken him a year to build up enough courage to even drive towards the Roadhouse. A year before when a demon twisted his thoughts around and made him attack his oldest son. A year since a demon named Abaddon asked him to get rid of a fellow demon that went by Azazel. Azazel had known Mary and her family and brought the same tragedy to both the Seraph and Winchester families - or so this Abaddon demon said.

The door to the Impala squeaked open loudly as John hauled his tall frame out of the muscle car. Straightening his jacket, he walked towards the saloon's front door and entered. The bar was empty except for a couple hunters John didn't recognize in the corner and two at the bar.

Danny Travis stood behind the bar pouring a shot of liquor into a glass for a young guy John didn't recognize. There was no way that the kid receiving the alcohol could have been older than his nineteen-year-old son Dean. John squared his shoulders and walked towards the bar.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Johnny?" questioned Danny once he took notice of the newcomer. "Ellen made herself clear when she said she didn't want you coming around here anymore."

Danny Travis had been with the Harvelle family since he was fifteen. The kid's parents had been murdered by a shape shifter when Bill found him huddled in a corner scared out of his wits. He'd taken the kid in, given him a home, and allowed him to work to earn his keep. Ellen and Bill had taught him the horrors that lurked in the shadows, had taught him how to defend himself against the creatures that loomed in the closets. A teenager was faced with the tragedy of two dead parents, and he made the choice to hunt.

"Is Ellen here?"

"What makes you think she even wants to see you let alone talk to you, you son-of-bitch?" Danny stood his ground as he settled the bottle of alcohol on the table. "Get out."

"What? You gonna act like a tough guy, Danny? You gonna throw a punch at an ex-Marine, because I will kick your ass into next Tuesday if you even _think_ about punching me out."

The air grew tense as the three remaining pairs of eyes in the Roadhouse focused on the two hunters. Danny and John never got along. There had never been trust between the two. On more than one occasion, John told his friends to kick the kid to the curb. He was more trouble than he was worth.

"Danny," Ellen spoke sternly as she appeared in the doorway, "go get some beer from the basement. Rick, Sweetie, why don't you see if those two gentlemen in the corner need anything for me. Hmm?"

"Ellen," started Danny in warning.

"Basement now. Go get Jo if you need some help."

Rick grabbed his beer when Ellen snatched it out of his hand before throwing it in the nearest bin. She pointed towards the patrons before giving Danny a stern glare. Both boys retreated to do what Ellen had asked of them. Turning her attention on John, she forced a weak smile onto her face.

"Rick is best friends with Danny and only eighteen. I'm constantly slapping that boy's wrist to stop handing out alcohol like candy," said Ellen to break the ice. "Stupid kids. I swear, Danny's twenty-five going on fourteen."

"That's little Rick, huh? Hamilton Slane's kid who could forge documents like a pro at thirteen?"

"More like Hamilton's kid who's a pain in my ass."

John chuckled and suddenly began to realize how much he had missed Ellen. They were like his home away from home. They meant the world to him. He could remember the long nights where Ellen and him would drink beer and talk about their pain in the ass children. He missed their late night talks. They had been best friends at one point: John, Ellen, and Bill until one grave hunt changed that all.

"Look, John, hunting is a dangerous gig. Bill's been hunting since he was real small. He would have died if you were there or not. If Hamilton or Bobby or anyone else had been with him that night, it probably would have turned out the same. I forgave you a long time ago, John, so don't become a stranger on me now."

No, Bill would still be alive if John had nothing to do with the hunt. It was him, purely _his_ fault, that Bill died that night. No one else would have pulled that trigger. He had the choice and was living with the consequences.

"Do you… you know a pair of guys named Douglas Hale and Ben Seraph?"

"Doug and Ben? Yeah, Sweetie, I know 'em. Why?"

"I'm looking for them."

Ellen leaned back onto the bar as her eyes wandered over to the hunters in the corner of the room talking in low tones with Rick. Her eyes glanced back at John. She took her time formulating the words in her mouth.

"Doug died last year. A demon got the best of him."

"Do you know where Ben is?"

"John, look, Ben Seraph is dangerous and unhinged. The guy would rather kill you than work with you. The only person he ever worked well with was his uncle. When Doug died, Ben came in here looking to get completely shitfaced. The guy drank himself into the hospital. I misjudged his weight, and he… just collapsed. Danny had to haul his ass to the hospital to get his stomach pumped. Ben came back here once released and beat the living daylights out of Danny for allowing him to live." Ellen sighed. "Ben is not someone you want to go messing around with."

John could picture Ben being the jerk that Ellen was describing. He could remember the last time he talked to Ben Seraph. Mary had gone to Billings, Montana because Doug had wound up in the hospital. He went there to be with her when Ben broke down into a fight with John in the middle of the waiting room. That was when Mary picked John. The only contact after that incident was random postcards from Doug to let her know they were all right. It wasn't until years later did he actually understood that they were hunters.

"Trust me, I know. I gotta talk to him though."

"You see those guys in the corner? That's Gordon Walker and Jack Kubrick. Gordon was out on a hunt down in New Orleans. Small groups of fangs were down there so he went to investigate. He ran into Ben down there. Gordon was used as bait and nearly died. Ben _left_ Gordon there to die. It wasn't just using him as bait; it was tying the guy up and cutting him open for the fang to come feast. He was damn lucky Kubrick was in town."

"So this Gordon almost got turned, huh?"

"Yeah, and he's only twenty-three. Damn, John, Gordon hasn't even been hunting that long. Who knows what kind of damage this had on the kid's mind."

John thanked Ellen quickly before walking towards the small group of hunters hidden beneath the shadows. He took a seat next to the older of the two guys as Rick scrammed from the table. Gordon Walker looked across the table. The kid looked horrible with a busted lip, a giant bruise formulating around his left eye, and a large white bandage disappearing beneath his shirt.

"I hear Ben Seraph did that to you." John didn't go through formalities but rather just cut to the chase. It was always best when dealing with hunters. "What a bastard."

"You come here just to piss me off or you got something to say?" asked Gordon.

John kinda liked the kid. He was rough around the edges and didn't take bullshit from anyone. Obviously, the kid didn't like to played or manipulated. He was heads on and knew what he wanted.

"I'm looking for the guy."

"Oh, yeah, and who are you?"

"John Winchester," he introduced himself half-heartedly. "Now, are you gonna help me out or do I have to beat it out of you?"

"John Winchester?" the kid asked. "Man, I've heard a lot about you, and I gotta say it's an honor. The word is that you're one of the best hunters there is."

"If you're trying to kiss my ass, do stop. I don't take well to suck-ups."

Gordon looked slightly taken aback. He glanced over at his buddy, who was wedged between the wall and John, in surprise.

"The man is just as great as the legend I guess," he settled on saying. "Last I saw of Ben Seraph was him running after a fang and leaving the other fang to feast on me."

"Then what?"

"Then I found him," Kubrick spoke up, "and rescued my friend."

"How did you even know Gordy was in trouble?" questioned John.

"God let me know Gordon needed me."

John looked at him dubiously but refrained from saying anything. He glanced to his left to see Kubrick smiling as though he were remembering the grandest time of his life. These two clowns would get themselves killed if they continued to hunt, that much John was sure of. He turned back to look at Gordon since he seemed to be the more sane one of the two.

"What else can you tell me? Did Seraph say anything to you at all that might indicate where he was going?"

"He said he'd save me a seat in hell and then ran after the fang," explained Gordon.

"Sounds like you two didn't get along."

"I only talked to him for ten minutes about the job before he invited me to join him," he spat. "If I'd have known that he was buckets of crazy, I wouldn't have hunted with him."

"Amateur," muttered John. "You don't trust anyone; you don't hunt with anyone else. It'll get you killed, Kid."

Years ago, when John first started to hunt about fifteen years ago, he made a similar novice mistake. He had trusted Daniel Elkins with his life, trusted Elkins with his kids' lives. Then, one morning, the older hunter tells him to get rid of the boys or else he'd get rid of them. He said that the boys would only distract John and everybody would die. The guy was a quack.

"Thanks for your _help_," he said bitterly. "A little bit of advice, Gordy, stop while you're ahead. All right?"

Standing up from the booth, John made his way towards the bar. Ellen and Danny stood behind the wood talking in hushed tones. John walked up to the bar and ignored Danny's glares. Ellen, on the other hand, smiled weakly as she saw him approach. It was now or never.

"Hey, Ellen, will you give me a call if you find out where Ben might be?"

Pulling out a pen and a piece of scrap paper, John wrote down his number and handed it to the woman. She took the paper and glanced at it briefly before nodding. John forced a smile before leaving the Roadhouse.

He was on his way back to Denver, Colorado where his boys were holed up in an apartment when his cell phone rang. The whole _cell phone_ business was particularly new to John. His oldest son had somehow managed to convince to get one. Every time the damn thing rang, he couldn't help but think that his boys were in some sort of trouble. So he dug through his leather jacket pocket with one hand and tried to keep the car steady with the other until he produced a large, black cell phone.

"Dean, what's wrong?"

_"I'm sure the boys are fine,"_ a familiar voice wafted into his ear. _"I have a favor to ask of you."_

"Who the hell is this?"

_"Jim Murphy from Blue Earth. We've talked a few times over the past, oh, fifteen years I would say in case you forgot."_

"Jim? Oh, hey, what do you need?"

John eased into the bench seat. The boys were still fine. Even after all the times he's left them both alone, they were still small children in his mind. Dean was only nineteen, and Sammy was only fifteen. He worried about them more than anyone or anything else in the world.

_"How far are you from Blue Earth?"_

"I just crossed into Colorado. The boys are staying outside of Denver. Why? You okay?"

_"I have a… hunting dilemma."_

"You've been hunting longer than me, Jim; I think you can get it under control. I want to get home and see my boys. I've been gone for two days already."

_"John, I wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't important."_

Within the next five minutes, the pastor convinced John to travel to Blue Earth. Next thing he knew, he was dialing the number to the apartment. He let it ring once and then hung up before calling again. Dean answered the phone out of breath.

"Hey, Dude, what's going on?" he questioned with slight concern in his voice.

_"Nothing. We're _fine_, Dad, I swear. I'm just teaching the little jerk how to defend himself against a big bad bully instead of fleeing like a little girl."_

In the background, he heard his youngest protest loudly at the very prospect of being a girl. Sam had been having trouble with bullies ever since he started school. The kid was awkward, shy, and small - the perfect prey for insecure asshole kids to take a jab. Dean had been fighting his battles with idle threats and cracking knuckles. Except, Dean couldn't always fight Sammy's battles. Not to mention, nowadays, Sam was growing like a weed, growing faster than John was able to buy him clothes, and was more than capable of taking care of himself.

"Hey, listen, you know that emergency money I left you two?"

_"Yeah, what about it? Sammy, would you freakin' stop?"_

"Pastor Jim just called. He needs me for something over in Minnesota. Can you boys last a couple more days or do you want me stop by to get you more provisions and crap?"

_"Uh, the fridge is kinda empty, but I can go out and get some stuff. We have about seven hundred dollars left in emergency cash. We'll be fine."_

"You're sure?"

_"Dad, come on, we're fine. Tell Pastor Jim he still owes me fifty bucks."_

"Why the hell would Jim owe you fifty bucks?"

_"Hey, Dad, even pastors have to pay off their gambling debts."_

Jim wasn't one for gambling. In fact, the pastor condemned it as though it were one of the seven deadly sins. Except, about two months ago, both Sam and Dean contracted the stomach flu while John was away on a hunt. Jim, per John's request, spent the weekend with them until John could get home. Whenever the boys were sick, Jim would do just about anything to make them happy. What made Dean happy was swindling people out of as much money as he could muster. The fact that Jim only owed fifty bucks showed that Dean held restraint in his gambling efforts.

_"Dad, I gotta go, okay? Sammy's throwing a fit."_

"Is he all right?" Concern laced John's words.

_"Oh, yeah. He's just nervous about his date with Kelly Tinker tonight. If he's lucky, perhaps he'll lose his virginity to that tight body."_

In the background, he heard Sammy scoffing and attempting to wrestle the phone out of his brother's hand. John sighed as his grip on the cell phone tightened. Sometimes, just sometimes, he wished that his boys weren't so damn _normal_. Dean was the classic horndog teenager while Sam was the classic awkward geek. Together, they were the classic set of brothers.

"Hey, stop screwing around, you two!"

_"Yeah, Sam, stop _screw_ing around."_

"Dean, give Sammy the phone."

There was more rustling until Sam nervously said hello to his father. John could practically hear the kid twitching anxiously on the other end. The very prospect of talking about sex to his father was mortifying. John remembered he tried to sit the kid down to have the jerking off talk. Sammy squirmed in his seat for a few minutes before blurting out that Dean already taught him everything he needed to know and he didn't want to have this conversation with his father.

"Sammy-"

_"Sam. It's Sam, Dad, for the billionth time already. Sammy's a little kid's name. I'm fifteen."_

"_Sam_, listen to me. Whatever Dean may have told you about sex and how to get into Kelly Tinker's pants," John started out and he was certain his youngest was blushing and squirming, "you treat her like a lady, young man. Don't you dare force her into anything she doesn't want to do. If you…"

God, John couldn't believe the words of sex were leaving his mouth over a cell phone to Sammy. Except, he gave the talk to Dean a year too late and his oldest was a lost cause on the ways of maturity in sexual relations.

"If you do find yourself with this girl, you better use protection. God, Sam, just, try to avoid, all right? You're freakin' fifteen years old for Christ Sakes."

_"Dad, tell Pastor Jim I said hi."_

The phone went dead. With a heavy side, John tossed the cell phone down next to him and settled in for the drive to Blue Earth.

John passed Pastor Jim's church before turning onto the dirt road that led to the ranch-style house in the back. The familiar yellow '72 GMC Sierra Custom Camper was parked in front as well as a red 1989 Chevrolet Camaro which John didn't recognize. Cutting the engine, he hauled his frame out of the Impala and strolled towards the front door. Before he could even knock, Jim opened the door and ushered his friend inside.

Walking into the living room, John noted a young kid sitting on the couch with his elbows propped on his knees. The kid was older than Dean by a couple of years, perhaps two or three. His dark hair was long and shaggy just like Sammy's. A couple days stubble graced his chin. He wore ripped jeans and a faded WC shirt. Looped around his neck was a familiar protection amulet but John couldn't place the specifics about it.

The kid stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans. He extended a hand towards John and forced a smile onto his face. His eyebrows rose, anticipation crossing his features. Not knowing what else to do, John reached out and grasped the kid's hand into his.

"Thanks for meeting me," said the kid. "Pastor Jim said that you were the guy to go to."  
John raised his eyebrows in surprise and tried to figure out what the kid was talking about. Then it hit him. Jim, the bastard, set this up. He glanced towards the pastor with confusion and slight anger. Jerking his hand away, John looked back at the kid who was adjusting his posture.

"I'm Joshua Harper," he introduced himself.

"John Winchester."

"Mister Winchester, I just want to thank you for doing this."

"Doing what?"

John glanced over at Jim. He was pissed off. He knew exactly where this was going, and he didn't like it one bit. Jim merely smiled before titling his head in defeat.

"You know, John," Jim started, "when you first started out it was up to myself and Daniel Elkins to show you the ropes so you didn't get yourself killed."

"You want me to take in pretty boy and show him how to hunt?" he scoffed.

"Joshua has been through quite a lot, Jonathan, and I expect you to take him under your wing. If not for Daniel and myself, your sons would very well be orphans by now."

"How dare you use that against me?"

"It's the code, John."

"Fuck the code."

No way in hell was John taking the kid home, introduce him to his sons, and teach him how to defeat the creatures that lurked in the shadows. John already had enough jobs to do and didn't have the time to baby-sit some punk ass kid who was caught up in the fervor of hunting.

"Experienced hunters take in recruits and show them the way. It's your job to pay back what Daniel and I did for you."

"Have Elkins take the kid in."

"Daniel is in no state of mind to take in a protégé."

Glancing towards the kid, John took him in. He wasn't totally hopeless. He looked like an athlete with some muscle mass to him. Despite that, this kid - Joshua - looked broken and scared. John suspected that the kid didn't have it in him to last in the hunting world.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one, Sir," he replied.

"You go to college?"

"Used to. Westminster for political science. I dropped out to become a hunter."

"Why the hell would you throw your life away like this?"

The kid hesitated as a pained expression crossed his face. Joshua refused to look at John until he got his emotions under control. Sniffing, the kid looked back at the older hunter.

"Some son-of-a-bitch killed my baby sister. She was only sixteen."

Sighing heavily, John understood the kid's need for revenge. It was noble, John had to hand it to him. Except, this kid was throwing away his whole life for vengeance that might not ever come. John had been looking for Mary's killer for fifteen years and was still wandering around blind looking for it. All he had was a name, Azazel, which could be a pure BS lead from some whack demon. That was all John had to work with, demon information and false hope.

"You really want to be a hunter?"

"I can't… I can't go back, Sir. I can't go back to college and get my degree knowing that there are things, nightmare things out there murdering innocent people like Audrey. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I don't hunt them down."

"What killed your sister? Do you know?"

"John, I hardly think you should be asking him that," interrupted Jim.

"Nah, Pastor Jim, it's all right. I gotta be able to talk about it, this kind of stuff, if I'm gonna be a hunter, right?"

The kid looked up at John as though he held all the answers in the world. His face was pleading for the older hunter to give me a reason to go on, to hunt. John swallowed the lump in his throat and just nodded numbly.

"There's a pastor back in Bayfield, Wisconsin where I used to live. He, uh, noted the lunar cycle and said a werewolf killed Audrey. That's what he thinks at least. Then he told me to come meet up with Pastor Jim, said that he knew a lot more hunters and was in a training program of sorts."

"Training program?" questioned John as he glanced at his friend.

"I've pointed a lot of novice hunters into the direction of professional hunters," supplied Jim almost indifferently. "I have connections being a pastor and all."

"The things you learn about a guy."

"You know I've trained hunters before, gave them connections. Just because you only know Caleb doesn't mean you two were the only ones I've ever taken in."

John trained his gaze back on Joshua Harper who looked a lot younger than twenty-one in that moment. He looked like a lost kid trying to find his parents in a crowded mall.

"Pastor Jim says you got two boys, teenagers. He also said you're really protective of them. I promise that no matter what I learn about you and your family, I would never betray you guys. Mister Winchester, please, I just want to help people."

"It would do the boys some good to spend some time with a kid around their age that they can openly talk about hunting with," Jim suggested.

"My dad was a Navy officer. He died when I was twelve, but he taught me how to shoot a gun by the time I was eight. I've always kept going back to the shooting range to… you know. So, I know a bit about guns and such."

A part of John wanted to take Joshua in, because he'd feel damn guilty if the kid died without his training. Another part didn't have the patience to take in an apprentice. There was also caution in the situation. Did he really want his kids mingling with a complete stranger? Joshua could very well be some punk ass kid who'd turn on his family in a heartbeat if the situation arose. Could he really take that chance?

"He checks out, John," Jim said suddenly as though reading his friend's thoughts. "Pastor Orson from Bayfield contacted me, told me about Audrey and Joshua. He's legit and just wants to hunt. Most of us, John, we all start out the same. A loved one dies at the hands of something supernatural. Half of us will deny it, call it a freak accident, go on with our lives. The other half of us knows that there was foul play no matter how crazy it sounds. You and I both know from experience, John. Both of us started out just like Joshua. It's our duty to teach him."

John looked at his friend and just nodded. He never fully learned Jim's story and how he got into hunting. All he knew was that Jim's brother had been murdered by something supernatural, and he joined the crusade. It wasn't discussed in length, and John never minded. He didn't need to know specifics. He just needed to know that Jim was someone he could talk to, count on, _trust_.

Glancing over at Joshua, he saw a kid who witnessed an unspeakable tragedy and made a choice to save others from the same tragedy. John would be lying if he said he didn't relate to the kid, didn't feel for him.

"Look, kid, I'll take you in. Trust me, though, if you do anything to either one of my sons, I will murder you with my bare hands. We clear?"

"Mister Win-"

"John. Call me John."

The kid broke out into a wide grin, a wave of relief crossing his face.

"Call me Joshua then. Uh, John, I wouldn't dream of hurting you or your boys." He paused for several seconds as though debating whether or not he should continue. "How old are they? I'm just… curious."

"Sammy's fifteen and Dean's nineteen."

"Awesome. So have they been hunting long?"

"They've grown up hunters, Joshua. My boys could beat you at anything. They're smart and they're well-trained."

"Bobby dropped by a couple days ago and installed a cache in his trunk. I've supplied him with the necessities and told him about Caleb. All he needs from you are the tricks of the trade." Jim turned his attention towards Joshua. "You have my number if you need anything. Call me anytime you want. I've put John's number in there as well in case you two ever get separated during a hunt. Be careful, watch yourself, watch who you're with. There's a certain amount of trust that needs to be established between you and John. You two _have_ to count on each other in order to watch each other's backs. You watch his and his boys' backs, John will trust you in no time, m'boy."

"Thank you for… everything."

"No need to thank me, Joshua. Stay safe. John, tell the boys I said hello."

"Oh, yeah, Dean said you owe him fifty bucks and Sammy says hi."

"Tell Dean that I want a rematch, and that I resent that he hustled a man of God," Jim said with amusement.

John and Joshua bid their goodbyes before exiting the pastor's house. Once at the Impala, John looked up to see the kid fumbling with his keys while standing next to the Camaro. He seemed uncertain on what to do.

"We're going to Denver. My boys are there. You'll follow me."

With that, John hauled his body into the Impala and started the engine. He waited several seconds until he heard the Camaro roar to life as well. The drive to Denver was not a peaceful one. He knew that as soon as the boys met Joshua, they would each have very different feelings on the matter. Sam would be either indifferent or elated to have someone else to talk to. Dean, on the other hand, would not welcome the young hunter into their lives. His eldest was the most protective of the small family. He didn't like change, he didn't accept strangers, and didn't trust easily.

Pulling into the small parking lot of the apartment complex, John cut the engine and waited for Joshua to park next to him. The kid got out of the Camaro immediately after parking next to John and waited nervously with his hands in his pockets.

"You ready, Joshua?" called John as he exited the Impala. "We're going to stake out here for a bit until I get us a job. Make yourself comfortable."

"Yes, Sir, Mister Winchester."

"I thought I said to call me John," he said dryly as they walked in step towards the entrance of the building. "Mister Winchester was my father."

"Sorry, John."

"You know, Joshua, my boys can smell fear from a mile away, and they won't hesitate to take advantage of that." Sighing, John faltered in his stride. "I get that you're scared shitless. You've believed your whole life that monsters aren't real, and now you find yourself on the path of becoming a supernatural hunter for the rest of your life. It's daunting, and I get that. I've been there, kid. I've been in your position before with a four year old and a six month old in tow. After your first hunt, your first kill, you get it. It's like something clicks in your mind. You just get it."

Joshua snuffled his feet as he stared at John as though he half expected some sort of greater epiphany to appear. Forcing a smile, the kid just nodded.

"Did your sons get it when they were on their first hunt?"

"No, they already got it long before then. This life is all Sammy ever knew. This life is the only thing that makes sense to Dean. They were so young when they were thrown into this life that they already… you and me have the challenge. We made the choice. We knew life before the darkness, before the monsters. Sometimes, you have a hunt and you can't comprehend it. You doubt what you find because it's ridiculous. Sam and Dean don't doubt it. They've grown up believing that everything exists. You know what I'm saying?"

The kid just nodded in understanding. John stared at Joshua and couldn't help but feel sorry for the kid. He was twenty-one, on the verge of graduating college, had the kid sister, had the caring mom, and then everything was thrown into a whirlwind. John empathized with him. He had the grand life with the perfect wife, two cute kids, a steady job, a nice house only to have it burn away in less than ten minutes.

"If you don't mind me by asking, Sir, you got into hunting because of your… wife?"

"Yeah, Mary, she, uh, died a long time ago."

"You ever catch what killed her?"

Fifteen years. Fifteen years and John didn't have any concrete evidence on what happened to his wife. He guessed a demon because that was the conclusion of other hunters and seemed like the most probable. He'd heard whispers about what happened that night, about what happened to other unsuspecting families that year. He'd found other families who went through the same strange set of occurrences.

"It was a demon," he decided on saying. "I'm still hunting the bastard down."

"John, did you… did you see it happen?" Joshua's voice cracked. "'Cause I saw Audrey ripped to shreds, and I can't… I can't close my eyes without seeing it happen over and over again. Does it ever go away?"

A part of John screamed to tell the kid the truth that the images never went away and the pain never lessened. He could tell the truth to the kid, tell him that the only thing that keeps a person going after watching a loved one die in such a grotesque way was to keep moving, to keep hunting. Except John didn't want to be responsible for breaking the boy, for taking away what little innocence he had left.

"I'll let you know," he responded hoarsely before turning to walk out of the parking garage with Joshua in tow.

* * *

Author's Notes - This is the first chapter of the title piece of the series. The next chapter is packed full of interesting tidbits and some action. The hunt will officially begin. Don't forget to leave a little review to tell me if I've caught your interest.

Huge thanks to Shannon for editing.


	2. Arabesque

**"The Dark Horse"**

**"Chapter Two: Arabesque"**

If two roads diverged in the woods, which one would be the best to take? There's the easy road paved with good times mixed with some bad. Then there's the sinuous, spiraling, undulating road paved with death and destruction. Most people are set on the road most traveled, the easy path but less fulfilling one. John was directed to the road less traveled, and that has made all the difference. He would fight the obstacles that obscured his path, because he understood there was no such thing as a happy ending. There was no 'once upon a time' and 'they lived happily ever after'. There was birth, a choice, and then death. One path would lead a person into prominence while another road will leave a person forgotten. John took the road of prominence, and that truly did make all the difference.

Twisting the key in the lock, John glanced back at Joshua one last time before carefully pushing the door to the apartment open. Slowly, he crossed the threshold to mind the salt line. Dean was sprawled on the couch sleeping with _The X-Files_ playing on the television. Sammy was nowhere to be seen. John motioned for Joshua to step inside.

"Dean," said John in a low voice.

"You get it? The banshee or whatever?"

The nineteen-year-old stirred on the couch as he lazily wiped the sleep from his eyes. Dean turned to the television just in time to see Mulder evaporating into yellow gunk. Reaching for the remote, the kid clicked off the tube and turned towards his father. A soft scoff escaped Dean's lips

"Whoa, why'd you bring home Robin?"

"_Dean_, this is Joshua Harper. Joshua, this is my oldest son Dean."

The kid stumbled off the couch with his hair sticking straight up in the air. He ambled towards the two with his shoulders squared. His clothes were twisted on his frame. Reaching out a hand towards Joshua, the older boy took it without hesitation.

"Is he your service project or something?" questioned Dean. "Or is he a long lost brother that we never knew about? You know, the one that's always chained up in the attic and was never spoken about?"

"He wants to be a hunter," John supplied as the boys broke their handshake.

Shrugging off his jacket, John threw it onto the back of the decrepit recliner. He didn't wait to hear Dean's comments but rather walked into the kitchen to grab something to eat. It'd been nearly a day since he'd last eaten, and he was freakin' starving.

He was rummaging through the fridge when he heard two sets of footsteps entering the room. Then, he heard a door opening and closing as another pair of footsteps joined in.

"How was the date, Sammy?"

"It's Sam. Who is this?"

"Joshua Harper, Dad's new service project," Dean broke in with contempt lacing his words.

Looking up, John noted that Sammy and Dean were huddled together in one corner and Joshua in the other. The three of them looked wearily at each other as though they half expected World War III to start up in any moment.

"You wanna tone down the attitude?" snapped John. "We're here to help him get started in hunting. We can't just cut him loose and allow him to die. What would that say about us?"

"Is this what Pastor Jim wanted?" questioned Dean. "Seriously, he wanted us to take in young Anakin Skywalker?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, Dean sidestepped so that he was standing in front of his little brother. His glare towards Joshua challenged the older kid to make his move.

"Did anyone call while I was gone?"

John needed to change the subject. Somehow, he had to make this work for a couple months. In order to do that, he had to act normal and pretend Joshua being there was just like having Jim over.

"Caleb called for you," replied Dean. "He has a hunt."

"He wants me to go hunting with him?" John asked in slight surprise.

It wasn't a huge secret that John liked to hunt alone especially after what happened with Bill Harvelle a few years back. He only felt comfortable going hunting with his sons - at least to some degree. He worried about them when they were hunting as a family, but he knew the boys would take care of each other.

"No, he said it was a hunt you've been itching to go on for awhile."

"What kind of hunt is it?

John could only hope it was a demon case. He'd been anxious to find another demon since Abaddon in South Dakota. The answers to who this Azazel was and what happened to Mary seemed to be falling into his lap. After all these years, he sensed the truth was close.

"Demonic possession."

If Caleb had been in the room, John would have insisted buying the younger hunter a beer or something. He knew, out of all of his friends, that Caleb would be the one to pull through.

"Why do you want a demon case?" questioned Sammy in what seemed like an accusing tone.

"Need to keep my Latin fluent."

Dean shot him the look - the look that read as clear as day _stop bullshitting and tell the truth_. Out of everyone John knew, Dean was the only one who could call his lies and bluffs from a mile away. His oldest knew him better than anyone. Dean could pick up his white lies that he'd tell Sammy to make hunting seem less dangerous than it really was. Sammy was always kept half in the dark. Dean was always kept up-to-date.

"Where's the hunt?"

"Marquette, Michigan," replied Dean as he scrutinized his father's movements.

Plans started formulating in John's mind. Three weeks and the school year was over. He couldn't very well pull Sammy out of school and drop the boys at Jim's or someplace. They needed to stay in Denver so Sam could move to the next grade. Glancing at Dean, John knew he counted on him too much. Dean - his strong, brave eldest son - always held too much responsibility. There was rarely a way around it.

"I wanna go," Sam said suddenly. "I wanna go on the hunt."

"What?" both John and Dean breathed in disbelief at once.

Sam hated hunting. He liked the normal things: school, a house, family, sports. Moving around all the time and hunting supernatural beings wasn't exactly Sam's idea of life. Unless it was summer break, Sam didn't like to go hunting at all. He downright hated it.

John stared at his youngest to see the all too familiar shit-eating, defiant smirk etched on his face. Oh, Sammy was up to something. There was no doubt in John's mind that the kid had a good reason to want to go to Marquette.

"School ends in three weeks. You have to take finals," reasoned John.

"Finals are the last week of school. It won't take more than two weeks to do the hunt. If it does, Dean can bring me back a little early."

Joshua's eyes burned into John. The newcomer was wondering what the big deal was. John wanted to punch the kid in the face. The kid held no concept of his family or how dangerous this hunt could potentially be.

"I don't know, Sammy. You're still pretty young to go on a hunt like this. You're really only used to ghost jobs."

"Sam. How many times do I need to tell you? It's _Sam_." The kid rolled his eyes. "You're always telling me I need to get more experience. Well, here's my experience. I want to go on the hunt in Michigan."

"I say you need to train more. You can't hunt a freakin' _demon_ without training properly!"

"Dean started hunting things other than ghosts at my age!"

John didn't mention that Dean didn't go on his first non-spook hunt until he was sixteen. It would only cause Sammy to get even more angry and defiant. Not to mention, this was a demon hunt, which was the last kind of hunt John wanted his children to go on. He and all of his close hunting friends believed a demon killed Mary. Therefore, John didn't want Sam and Dean ever going on a hunt that involved demons of any kind.

"What do you want from me?" challenged Sam. "You want me to hunt and then you don't want me to hunt. You change your mind so much that no matter what I do I can't make you happy!"

"Sammy," Dean said in a low tone.

"Dean, come on, you know it's true! No matter what either one of us does, he's never happy!"

John didn't miss the fact that Sam didn't snap at Dean for calling him _Sammy_. It hurt him beyond words that Sam loved his brother more than he loved his father. It felt like a rusty knife had punctured into his heart and twisted around inside. Clearing his throat, both of his boys snapped their attention to their father.

"All right. Go pack your stuff. You can hunt for a week and a half with me. If the hunt isn't over with by then, Dean and you are coming back to Denver."

The words left his mouth before he could stop himself. Sammy smiled triumphantly as he scampered off to the bedroom the brothers shared. Dean hesitated for a few seconds before retreating after his brother.

"John, uh, what's going on?"

Snapping his gaze from the doorway towards the novice hunter, John found himself debating on where to go from here. This hunt could be pivotal in the hunt for Mary's murderer and therefore the kid shouldn't go. His sons should stay away for their own safety. Except, he found himself in the position of not being able to ditch three kids on what could very well be the hunt he's been looking for his whole life.

"Demons are dangerous. You better follow my orders to a tee, Joshua."

In the end, all four hunters drove from Denver to Marquette. Dean rode shotgun. He fiddled with his walkman and the cassette tapes by his feet that John had been collecting for years. Sam sat in the back buried in a book studying for his finals. Every several minutes, John looked in the rearview mirror to make sure the red Camaro wasn't far behind. The kid was sure to get lost if John didn't keep a close eye on him.

In about twenty hours, the Impala and the Camaro pulled into a motel off the highway. Sammy was sprawled across the backseat sleeping while Dean fought to keep his eyes opened. Cutting the engine, John weighed his options. He wanted his own room so that he could lay around the information he wanted without worrying about peering eyes. Then again, he'd always shared a room with his boys.

"I'm getting us three rooms," he decided as he told Dean softly.

"Why?"

"Dean, don't fight me on this. Okay?"

"What's going on, Dad?"

The nineteen-year-old was suddenly very much awake and alert. His eyes quickly looked back at his brother before resting on his father. John told Dean everything. When it came to Mary and what happened that night, however, John found himself pushing the kid as far away as possible. Some things were just too painful to talk about.

"Your job is to look out for your brother. We have a new player in this game, so I have to make sure this punk kid doesn't get himself killed."

"Why is he even here?" questioned Dean with annoyance lacing his words.

"His sister was mauled by a werewolf. He wants revenge. How can I not help him?"

Glancing over towards Dean, John gave a weak smile. The kid nodded slightly before looking passed his father to the older boy who leaned against the hood of the Camaro lighting up a cigarette. Dean understood all too well. If anything ever happened to Sam, Dean would want revenge.

"Be nice to him all right, Dude? He's been through a lot."

With that, John left the car while reaching for his wallet in his jeans pocket. He nodded towards Joshua before entering the lobby. Purchasing three rooms, he collected the keys. Walking outside, he faltered slightly at the scene unfolding in front of him. Dean and Joshua were talking in low tones to one another. A smile graced both their faces as an unheard joke rang between them.

Once he'd settled the boys in their room and made sure Joshua was set in his, John pulled his cell phone out of his jacket as he made his way to his own room. Punching in the Lincoln area code followed by the all too familiar number, Caleb was on the line in seconds.

"What's going on?" demanded John his voice harsher than he intended it.

_"Some murders."_ Caleb got straight to the point, instantly knowing who it was on the phone. _"A friend of mine, Steve Wendell, he started to investigate them. He said there was sulfur everywhere. I mean not just sulfur, Johnny, but bucket loads of it. My guess, more than one son-a-bitch is there."_

"This Wendell character, will he be a problem?"

_"Steve? Nah, told him my buddy was itching to practice his Latin to get a certain pastor off his ass. He said he was going a couple towns over to deal with a spirit and would call me to see if you need help. Demons really aren't his brand of beer if you know what I'm saying."_ Caleb paused for several seconds. _"There's a warehouse off Freemont. Steve thought it looked suspicious, but he left before checking it out. It's a place to start."_

"Tell him I don't need him."

The last thing John needed on this hunt was another hunter to deal with. Running a hand over his stubble covered chin, John thought of Dean, Sam, and Joshua in the next two rooms over. He wanted them less involved than ever before.

_"Hey, Johnny, your jarhead ass better stay in contact. I don't want to play the part of godfather to your brat again. Got that?"_

John chuckled as the line went dead. Only John and people close to Caleb would understand the underlying concern of his words. The younger hunter wasn't the hard ass he tried to portray twenty-four/seven. He worried more than he should about the Winchesters and his close hunting buddies.

It was nearing midnight when John piled the kids into the Impala. Joshua sat shotgun while the other boys situated themselves in the back. Dean shot his father several dirty looks in the process. He _had_ been riding shotgun regularly since he was ten years old.

While driving towards the warehouse, John went over the preliminaries of the hunt. Sam and Joshua would be together at all times watching each other's backs. They would surround the outside to make sure nothing got in or out. Dean, on the other hand, would be going inside with John to investigate. They would each have walkie-talkies so that they could know one another's position with one press of a button - although it was only to be used in extreme measures. Communicating freely could give away their position, take away the element of surprise if something were to be in the warehouse.

"Stay out of sight. There's nothing that can kill a demon. Holy water will hurt like a bitch, and salt lines will protect you. You can trap a demon, but we don't have time to draw traps for them all over the warehouse. If we can't trap them, we won't have enough time to exorcism them before we're dead," John explained as he pulled up to the warehouse. "You see a demon, make sure you remember what it looks like so we can find the sonofabitch later. Don't play hero though. Throw some holy water on it and run like hell's chasing you."

He gave them each a gun from the trunk filled with iron rounds dipped in holy water. The bullets wouldn't do much damage to a demon, but they were sure to buy the boys some time to run if need be. With one last look at Sammy and Joshua, he gave them an encouraging smile before slipping into the warehouse with Dean.

Hand motions - that was how John taught his sons to communicate. John pointed his index and middle finger at his eyes and then upward. Then he pointed at Dean and motioned down the opposite hallway. They were splitting up. Before they did so, John looked pointedly into his son's eyes. _Be careful_ rang silently between them.

John inched down the hallway keeping his eyes peeled. It was an old warehouse that looked as though it were abandoned at least ten years previous. Grime covered the floors and walls. Cobwebs adorned the corners. The windows were dirty and cracked. The odd objects were covered in layers of dust.

Outside of the warehouse, Sam and Joshua proceeded to secure the perimeter. They stayed close together, guns at the ready. Joshua held onto the walkie-talkie, the responsibility nearly unbearable. He looked down at the fifteen-year-old looking bored out of his mind, caring less about the hunt in general. Sam Winchester wasn't what Joshua expected - hell Dean Winchester wasn't what he expected either. Somewhere in his delusional mind, he imagined two teenage soldiers who lived and breathed hunting. He didn't expect smartass kids.

"You go to college?" asked Sam.

"Used to. Westminster for political science. I dropped out right before my senior year."

The kid nodded as he brushed a piece of hair out of his face. Glancing sideways to look at the older kid, Sam's lips twisted up in a smile.

"Was it awesome? College, I mean. I've been thinking about universities and crap lately."

"It's all right. The parties are really something else, but the classes aren't bad either. I made some really great friends," replied Joshua as he surveyed the area. "What grade you in?"

"I'm a freshman, but I'm almost done with the school year. I've been planning on college though, thinking about the best universities and such. Just… don't tell my dad, okay?"

Joshua glanced over at the kid who was nearly the same height. Pausing for several seconds, Joshua tried to figure out why the kid would want to go behind his father's back. Surely, if Sam wanted to go to college then he would be allowed to. This crusade of hunting was not Sam's but rather John's battle.

Meanwhile, John found a trail of sulfur on a windowsill. The yellow residue coated his fingers. Turning around, John noted the door directly across from the window. Gun raised, safety off, and finger on the trigger, John stalked into the room. The gun whipped around the room. His hazel eyes swept the area for movement. There was nothing.

Stepping completely into the room, John did one last glance around the room with his gun. That's when the door slammed shut behind him and the gun flew from his grasp. Jerking his body around, John noticed a tall brunette walking towards him with a smirk twisted upon her face. A tight black dress pronounced her curves and her heels clicked on the grimy floor. He vaguely remembered her, except couldn't place the woman for the life of him.

"Hiya, John-Boy, did you miss me?"

Quickly, John reached into his jacket pocket for the container of holy water. He unscrewed the cap and shot it out in front of him. The girl just laughed as her eyes clouded over black. She took a step forward as John flicked his wrist to expel some of the liquid. It landed on her without steam oozing or a grunt of pain.

"You think something like that works on someone like me?"

"Abaddon," John breathed.

He could remember her. She was in the body of an old host, the one that had cornered him in an alleyway and placed her hand upon his head. The details were fuzzy, but he remembered her face as though it all happened yesterday.

"Oh, still as smart as a tack, aren't you?"

"Reusing disguises, not very smart on your part."

"Oh, but Mackenzie has such a nice body. Plus, her wardrobe is super chic," Abaddon said sarcastically. "I hoped you would remember me. I mean, I figured my memory mojo would start to wear off by now. I guess I was right."

"What do you want?"

John stood his ground as he tossed the useless holy water onto the floor. Abaddon took a couple more steps forward until she and John were within mere inches of each other. The corners of her mouth quirked up into a wide smile.

"I want peace on earth, Johnny," she whispered.

"That's funny to me 'cause the only demons I've met want anarchy."

"Well, they aren't really upstanding demons then. I don't want a dystopia, John. I just want to stop a civil war - to prevent a demon and hunter war. You know what I'm saying?"

Outside the warehouse, Joshua told Sam all about college life. He talked of classes, dorms, wild parties, sporting events. Sam took it all in with a grin growing on his face. There was no doubt in the fifteen-year-old's mind, he was going to college even if it was the last thing he did.

"Why'd you give it all up for this crappy life?" questioned Sam as the walkie-talkie crackled softly.

"A werewolf killed my kid sister," he replied softly. "How could I just go back to school after that?"

"What do your parents think? I mean, they must be furious that you skipped out on school and decided to be a bum nomad with a gun and holy water."

Joshua swallowed hard as he looked away from the younger kid. The two-way radio in his hand started to crackle louder. Hitting it against his palm a few times, Joshua faltered in his steps.

"My dad died when I was a kid," he said with a frown. "My mom killed herself about a month after Audrey died."

He continued to hit the walkie-talkie lightly, but the static kept growing. The machine started to whine, the frequency dial going wild. A crackled voice filled the air. Joshua snapped his head towards Sam, the younger hunter snatching the radio.

"Dean?" he said frantically. "Dean, what's going on?"

The radio whined again, Dean's voice washing out. Sam looked at Joshua fearfully before running towards the entrance of the warehouse. The older boy ran after him, protesting loudly that they should stay where they're supposed to. Guns drawn, the two inched into the warehouse.

"Your dad told us to stay outside," protested Joshua.

"My dad and brother could be dying!"

The two raced through the warehouse with guns drawn. Joshua pushed Sam behind him in order to lead. The fifteen-year-old was not going to die on his watch. They raced through the warehouse looking for Dean and John. Climbing up the side staircase, they heard doors being kicked opened and walls punched. They rounded the corner at the top of the stairs and saw Dean halfway down the hall going through a newly kicked in door.

"Dean!" shouted Sam.

"So much for being subtle," muttered Joshua.

Sam raced down the corridor, Joshua at his heels, until they stopped short of Dean. Dean let out a sigh of relief at seeing the two and continued farther away from the staircase, kicking in doors one at a time.

"Where's John?" questioned Joshua.

"I don't know. We split up, and then about fifteen minutes later the radio went funky," Dean explained. "I was supposed to recon the first floor. Dad was taking the upper level."

In the meantime, Abaddon crossed her arms over her chest and stared at John expectantly. Her lips pursed as John stood his ground. Bangs could be heard from outside the room, but they were ignored.

"I gotta say, I'm a little disappointed in you, John-Boy. I don't quite believe the hype anymore," she spoke in a low tone. "What part of kill Azazel don't you understand?"

"What? You give me a name and suddenly I'm supposed to be enlightened?"

"You'll find and kill Azazel or my pretty little hand will be on your pretty little forehead and you'll go all Jack Torrance on those pretty little boys of yours."

"Or I can just send you to hell."

"You do that, and I'll be out within twenty-four hours. Someone as powerful as me doesn't stay there long. I got connections. You know what I'd do first? I'd kill your son."

"You mean sons?"

"No, son, just Sammy."

The air seemed to suck out of the room at the statement. John felt as though his lungs were going to collapse at the very thought. He could remember Abaddon's words from a year before, how this Azazel had touched Sammy and implied that he had psychic powers.

"Why?"

"You know why, John. He has demon blood in him. He's a psychic. He's special."

A loud bang sounded right outside of the room. Then, shouts from Dean and Sammy could be heard. They were yelling for him, calling out. Shoulders were pounding on the door, one after another in perfect harmony. John could only guess that Dean and Joshua were the ones trying to bring down the door.

"They won't get through," she said sweetly, "and I won't hurt them. _Yet_."

John never wanted to hit a girl more in his life. It took all of his will power to just stand there and not attack the demon with his bare hands.

"Do we have a deal, Johnny? You get rid of Azazel, and I'll protect your son from him."

John could hear Dean calling for him, could hear Joshua screaming his name, could hear Sammy sobbing out of fright. Abaddon stood there, nonchalantly gazing at her long fingernails. She glanced up impatiently, her eyebrow quirked upward.

"I'll need help locating him," said John. "I don't know how to track a demon like that."

"Oh, I'll teach you how to track him. I'll even help you trap other demons that follow him. You and me, John, we'll be best friends before the year is up."

"I don't get it." A chuckle escaped his thin lips. "Why are you doing this?"

"I told you, there's a civil war going on down in Hell, Johnny. Azazel and his morons think that Lucifer is just a name! Those insolent brats think they can just take over the crown! It'll happen over my dead body!"

Abaddon bent down and grabbed the discarded container of holy water. Handing it to John, a black mist escaped through the girl's mouth and collided with the ceiling. The door burst opened. Dean, Joshua, and Sam came spilling into the room with guns drawn and holy water out. They were panting as they took in the scene.

The girl on the floor - Mackenzie - moaned. Her eyes flickered, landing on John, before she jerked up. She scrambled away from the hunters with fear evident in her eyes.

"Pl-please don't hurt me again!"

Joshua was the first to move. He dashed forward and kneeled in front of the girl. Grasping her hands, he pulled her up and helped her towards the door. He looked at John briefly to make sure it was okay. The older hunter nodded curtly before turning his attention to his boys.

"I'm fine," he said.

"Dad!" Dean sighed in relief as he moved forward.

Reaching out, John laid a hand on the boy's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Worry resided in his eyes and a forced smile graced his features. John looked over the kid's shoulder to see his youngest doing his best statue imitation. Sammy's arms were crossed over his chest, cheeks stained with tears, nose red. He refused to move, refused to accept the comfort he desperately wanted.

"I'm _fine_," John stressed as he looked back to his oldest. "Just exorcised a demon was all."

Dean cocked his head to the right and looked dubious. It was only a half hour before when John told them that exorcising the demons weren't an option, that they wouldn't have enough time. Instead of voicing his dismay, Dean nodded numbly before following his father out of the warehouse with Sammy at their heels.

Outside, leaning against the Impala, Joshua and Mackenzie smoked cigarettes. At the sight of John, Mackenzie shrunk back and clenched Joshua's coat in her hands. Her eyes flickered to Joshua before going back to the Winchesters.

"I remember some of it," she breathed. "Joshua told me I was possessed? Demons are real?"

John shot Joshua a look, one that told him to _shut the hell up_. Forcing a smile, John took a step forward.

"Mackenzie, you're okay now. You're safe," John spoke calmly. "Joshua, I want to talk to you and then I want you to get her on a bus home. Dean, wait in the car with your brother."

John led Joshua around the warehouse and out of sight of everyone else. Grabbing the kid by his collar, John shoved the kid against the building as roughly as he could.

"You do what you do and you shut up about it! You don't go telling people demons are real! You don't go fucking up their minds like that! You have no right!"

"She remembered! What was I supposed to tell her?"

"You don't say anything! It's not your job! It's not your right!"

"I- I didn't know," Joshua said softly as he glared at the older man. "There's not exactly a Hunter's Handbook is there?"

"Don't be a fucking smartass, Harper!" roared John as he released the boy's shirt.

The kid looked like he was itching to say something, but he luckily held his tongue. His jaw clenched as his eyes burned into John.

"Nobody said this job was easy. In fact, it's downright brutal. It only takes a second, one wrong step, and the whole operation goes to hell in a hand basket. I gave you an order to stay outside with Sam. You violated that order."

"The radio started to crackle, and Dean was saying something over it. We couldn't hear him. I tried to stop him, but Sam went running inside. So instead of staying outside like a fucking good soldier, I went in to protect your rule breaking son!"

"Sam just… he was scared for his brother, all right?" John spoke through clenched teeth. "He doesn't understand-"

"Oh, he understands all right. Half the crap he does, it's to piss you off because he's one of those smartass, defiant teenagers."

"Takes one to know one."

"I was the teenager home on Saturday nights watching my kid sister while our mom was working her ass off so we could eat and keep the house! I'm responsible, John. If I would have let the kid go in by himself, then you'd be chewing my ass out. I go in with him instead to keep an eye on him, I get my ass chewed out. There was no way that I could restrain the kid without hurting him, John, and you know it!"

Part of John knew that what was said to him was true. No matter what happened in that situation, he would have ripped the kid a new one.

"Don't you talk to me like that ever again, are we clear?"

"Yes, Sir," replied Joshua.

John glanced at the stiff kid one last time before making his way to the Impala. Turning the key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot of the warehouse. Before turning the car onto the street, he took one last look at Joshua leading Mackenzie away on foot.

* * *

Author's Notes - I hope you enjoyed the new installment of the story. The third chapter of 'The Gift Horse' will hopefully be up this coming week and then next week hopefully a new chapter of his story. Special thanks to Shannon for editing for me. Also, don't forget to leave a little review. It really makes my day to read a little comment from you readers. 


	3. Sword of Damocles

**"The Dark Horse"**

**"Chapter Three: Sword of Damocles"**

_As I lay me down to sleep_, that was always what Mary said before she went to bed. She'd whisper prayers to God or whatever was out there. _I pray the Lord my soul to keep_. It didn't matter if she didn't know what kind of God was out there. Mary always believed in some sort of divine intervention, whether it be God or not. She liked to believe it was the traditional God. _If I shall die before I wake_, those words caught in John's throat when he thought about her saying them in her sweet voice, _I pray the Lord my soul to take_.

After everything John figured out after her death, the most terrifying thought was that, perhaps, Mary was rotting away in hell. What if the Lord didn't take Mary's soul? What if years of saying that childish prayer didn't bring her salvation? It literally made John think that his charming God-loving wife was not given the most spectacular afterlife. The woman who would put her children to bed with grand stories about angels, who would make her oldest repeat the prayer with her every night before laying him down to bed - how could she _not_ be in heaven?

When things got too rough, got too hard to handle, sometimes John found himself praying blindly. He didn't pray because he thought there was anything out there, but he prayed because it was what Mary would do in the situation. It made him feel close to her, made it feel like perhaps she was wandering around three of her most beloved boys to protect them from the evil.

So when he got the phone call from Ellen that Ben Seraph had stumbled into the Roadhouse three sheets to the wind and asking for the pain to stop, John told her to keep him there. Apparently, it didn't take a lot of convincing. One mention of the name John Winchester and Seraph was content to wait a month for the younger hunter to mosey on into the saloon.

John was packing up when he heard the knock on his motel door. He had completely forgotten that he left Joshua miles away from the motel in the dead of night with a very freaked out girl. When he opened the door to reveal a tired looking Joshua, a pang of guilt washed over him for several seconds.

"What the hell, John?" the kid questioned as he pushed his way through the threshold. "You left me out there with Mackenzie at two in the morning for what? To teach me a lesson?"

"Nobody said this job would be easy. You gotta learn that you can't go telling civilians that things go bump in the night."

"But we're the things that bump back!"

"It doesn't matter!" snapped John.

"Don't people have the right to know? I mean, how can you save people day in and day out and not advise them to be more careful because there are things that lurk out there?"

John didn't say anything. It would be easier to let people in on the know-how, tell them what slithered through the shadowy mists of life. Except, most people didn't want to know the things that went bump in the night. They would rather live in blissful ignorance for their whole lives and believe that the true darkness in the world couldn't touch them.

"Joshua, listen to me," he spoke calmly. "If you're looking for praise and recognition, you might as well just bow out now."

"That's not what I want! I want to warn people!"

"Look, Kid, that's noble. I get it, okay? But listen to me, people don't want the truth. They don't want to know what's really out there. Leave it be."

The kid looked about ready to protest. His lips twisted awkwardly on his face as though trying his hardest not to burst out what he really thought about the whole situation. Definitely, he crossed his arms over his chest but waited for farther instruction.

"I gotta meet a hunter," John said with a sigh as he turned back to his packing.

Sometimes, Sam and Dean were a lot to take in. Sam could be stubborn, defiant, and downright rude when he wanted to be. Dean could be loud, inappropriate, and too smug for his own good. Now, he felt like he had another son in Joshua who seemed to be a perfect blend of both his children.

"Where?"

"Nebraska. Look, I'm sending Dean and Sam back to Denver. So, I'll need you to come with me."

"Isn't that what I'm supposed to be doing anyways?"

Oh yeah, Joshua was already a freakin' Winchester in training with smartass remarks like that. John didn't know whether it would be appropriate or not to smack the kid upside the head.

"Get your gear together. We're leaving in an hour," John snapped with a stern glare to let the boy know he didn't enjoy the sarcasm.

Walking out of the motel room, he made his way next door to where Dean and Sam were most likely still sleeping. He rapped his knuckles gently on the wood but got no response. There was no muttering, groaning, or feeble attempts to get out of bed. Knocking louder, he heard his oldest swear and the mattress creak.

The door jerked opened. Dean stood there with blurry eyes and hair sticking up in every direction possible. An annoyed look was plastered across his face. His Metallica t-shirt was twisted on his torso as he casually leaned against the doorframe.

"What?"

John glanced pass Dean to see his youngest son sprawled across the bed farthest from the door sound asleep. The covers were half off as his bare feet peeked out from either side. Sammy's chest moved rhythmically up and down as soft snores escaped his lips.

"We're moving out. You and Sammy are going back to Denver."

"Why?"

Running a hand through his growing hair, Dean let out a long sigh and John knew exactly what was going through the kid's mind. More than anything, Dean hated being left out. He wanted to join his father in the good fight and battle all forces of evil. Except, Dean couldn't with Sam around. It was his job to watch out for his younger brother, and John would be a liar if he said it didn't break his heart a little.

John would love to go hunting with Dean all the time and leave Sam behind to take care of himself. Hell, Sam was fifteen and capable of staying home alone for several days. Dean had done it more times than John cared to even think about. Sammy was the baby though, and John couldn't bring himself to leave the kid alone. Especially not with all this talk about how he was _special_ - or whatever.

"I got a contact who wants to meet up with me."

"A contact? What about?"

Dean wasn't usually one to play twenty-one questions. He'd usually go with the flow of things. Except, it was early in the morning and John was ditching him yet again. John understood the frustration, the fact that the kid felt like a baby-sitter instead of a respected son. It was out of control, John knew that better than anyone. Sammy couldn't be left alone though - that was John's mantra about the situation.

"The thing that killed your mother."

It wasn't often that John was candid about Mary and the thing that killed her. It took him years to even tell Dean what he saw that night. In fact, he still hadn't told Sammy. He just expected Dean to fill in the details, because the kid was better at communicating with Sam than he was. Plus, retelling the tale to one son was enough to last him a lifetime.

"Do you know what it is?"

Fear was evident in Dean's voice as he stepped outside the motel without socks or shoes. Closing the door softly behind him, Dean stood anxiously in front of his father for information. It was a rarity that John would talk about Mary let alone when he'd talk about that _monster_ that ruined their perfect family.

"I'm not 100 percent positive yet, Dude," John replied heavily. "That's why I need to go meet up with this guy."

"I can come with you. Sammy'll be fine for a few days."

"Nah, I need you to look out for your brother."

Disappointment was crystal clear in Dean's features as his green orbs shifted behind his father. John didn't have to turn around to know that Joshua Harper was packing up his things into his car.

"You'll let Cousin Oliver go with you though, huh?" questioned Dean as his chin jetted forward.

"No, Dean, I'm not. I'm gonna drop him off at a buddy's while I talk to my… informant. He's going to have no part of this," promised John.

"You'll tell me all about it when you get back?"

John knew there was no way in hell that he could tell Dean all about it, not with Benjamin Seraph involved. Too many questions would arise, and John didn't want his boys to have anything to do with that sociopath. As far as they knew, they didn't have an uncle.

"Who else would I tell? You're my dude, Dean."

A faint crack of a smile graced the younger boy's face. Dean nodded his head as he stared up at his father. John hated lying to the kid more than he hated lying to anyone else. Dean had always been there for him, taken care of him when he was too screwed up after a hunt to take care of himself. The kid always looked out for their family, protected them, was there for them. It wasn't fair not to be completely honest with him.

Reaching a hand out, John clasped his hand onto the back of Dean's neck. Pulling the kid forward, John gave him a brief hug that consisted of only two quick pats on the back. Breaking the contact before Dean had a chance to respond, John gave a weak smile.

"Drive careful on the way back. Watch out for your brother."

"I always do, Dad," Dean replied as he rolled his eyes. "Take care of yourself, will ya?"

"Listen, don't give Sammy anymore advice on the opposite sex," he said lightly. "I don't need two sex-crazed teenagers under my roof, okay?"

A bark of a laugh escaped Dean's lips as a smile twisted onto his face. The kid was brutally honest and had no problem letting his dad know that he got some - as though he loved to brag about the act. He'd make sly comments, quirky remarks, and generally loved to tell Sam that he needed to get a move on before he was a sixty-year-old virgin.

"I take offense to that," Dean replied with a wide smirk. "Plus, Sammy's too much of a gentleman to just get the deed done. He came home completely embarrassed the other night because he got to second base."

"Second base, huh? I remember the first time I got to second base."

"Seriously, Dad, I don't want to hear about your excursions in the storage closets or behind the bleachers of your old high school… _again_. That's enough to traumatize a kid."

"Like I want to hear about my son's excursions? Please, Dean, don't flatter yourself."

"Come on, you know you live vicariously through me," Dean said with a wink.

John chuckled deeply as he grinned at his son. He could faintly hear Sammy stumbling around the motel room. The door would open at any second, and the last thing the youngest Winchester would want to do is walk in on this conversation.

"What'd Sam say about it? Please tell me he didn't go to you for more advice."

The question wasn't one he should be asking Dean, but John knew the kid had all the information on the subject. There was no way in hell that Sam would ever tell him anything or even acknowledge that the situation ever happened.

"He asked me if it was all right that girls handle the package differently."

The door wrenched open suddenly as the oldest Winchesters tried to cover their laughter. Sammy glanced from between his father to brother with suspicion written clearly across his face.

"What's going on?" questioned Sam.

"Nothing, Sleeping Beauty," Dean managed to say with a straight face. "Go comb your hair or something, Princess."

Sam turned to his father expectantly. There was no words exchanged, but rather a sharp look that clearly said he wasn't budging until someone told him what was going on.

"You and Dean are going back to Denver while I meet with a contact about a hunt," John put it plainly.

"Whatever," sighed Sam.

John refused to have Joshua drive to the Roadhouse. The main reason being that John didn't like riding shotgun. He hated riding in a car at all unless he was the one driving. It was a stupid thing, but that's the way it was. When Dean was learning to drive, he let the kid behind the wheel. He didn't like it at all, but he put up with it for the greater good. The only person John ever felt comfortable driving with was Mary. She was the only one who could get him to be calm and collective in the passenger's seat.

When the Camaro parked outside of the old Roadhouse, the kid looked over at John in disbelief. It looked like a dodgy place, so John could understand Joshua's concerned glance. It seemed like a place for rough biker boys and not college boys who decided to go into hunting.

Upon entering the bar, a few patrons glanced their way. Several completely ignored John and glanced over at Joshua. John felt the kid's shoulder bump his. Glancing over at the bar, John caught sight of Ellen leaning across the bar and helping a teenager with her homework. It took him several seconds to figure out that the teenager was little Jo. She didn't look so innocent anymore, and she was obviously going through her awkward stage. The girl shifted uncomfortably on the barstool as though she wasn't quite sure what to do with her newfound gangly arms and legs.

"John!" Ellen greeted with a smile.

"Hey, Ellen, how've you been?"

"Oh, same ole same ole. You know me, I'm just that gal who serves beer and keeps radio tabs."

"Joshua, this is Ellen Harvelle and her daughter Jo. Ladies, this is Joshua Harper." John gestured between the three. "Jo, I give you permission to physically hurt him if he tries anything."

John winked at the thirteen-year-old girl who giggled and shot Joshua a bright smile. She literally bounced off her stool and immediately attached herself to the older boy's side much to his displeasure. With a shake of the head, John headed towards the back of the bar. In the corner, hidden under the shadows, sat Ben Seraph sipping a glass of alcohol. Sliding into the booth across from the man, John let out a low chuckle.

"You gonna to deck me one again?"

"I can't believe you brought your kid. What ever happened to your _never come near my kids_ shit you laid on my uncle when Mary passed?"

Seraph jutted his chin, so reminiscent to Dean, towards Joshua. Hell, the guy looked like a much older, much more haggard Dean. He had the same dirty blonde hair and shade of green eyes. He had the same style of clothing and the same posture. His glassy eyes stared at the young man with almost a longing. Clearing his throat, John brought the attention back onto him.

"That's not my son."

"So you're turning into Jim Murphy who takes in all the stray puppies and beaten kittens. Real cute, John."

John didn't say anything at the comment. His mind is too busy trying to figure out how the hell Seraph knew the pastor. Jim sure as hell never mentioned anyone named Douglas Hale or Ben Seraph. He never mentioned knowing Mary either, but John never told his friend his wife's maiden name.

"How'd you know Jim?"

"Jimmy Murphy? Well, the good ole pastor was hellbent on finding out what happened to his big brother. Started investigating, nearly got himself shot in the process. Decided to join in on hunting since it's such a promising career and all."  
The words were bit out with cynicism, sarcasm, and John didn't like it one bit. Jim Murphy had taken his broken family in, showed him the reigns, and continued to protect his children. The pastor had been John's best friend for years, had been a surrogate uncle to Dean and Sammy. Seraph had no right to talk about Jim like he was some kid who got in way over his head.

"You sure seem chatty for someone who usually talks with his fists," snapped John.

"Yeah, well, I've been anxious to talk with you for awhile now. It's funny, you know, Winchester, how you've become this enigma. I never thought I'd live to see the day you would be uttered in hushed whispers like some sort of saint."

Scoffing, John leaned back in the worn leather seat. Sure, he made quite a name for himself in the hunting community. Hell, he knew some hunters even admired him in some sort of twisted hero-worshipping way. He didn't care for the attention that he sometimes got. It wasn't like being recognized was his top priority, although it had saved his life a couple of times.

"I know all about you, Winchester. It's funny how some jock from Valparaiso, Indiana has become a renowned hunter. I mean, you have a Dad who's an ex-Army man, fought in World War II, got all fucked up in the process. So, Mommy had to bring home the bacon and take care of the family. Little Johnny then gets average grades and is a star athlete in both the baseball and cross country teams. Then Johnny goes off to war, finds himself a pretty girl, settles down, has 2.5 kids with the white picket fence and the annoying dog. Then one day, John finds his wife pinned to the ceiling of his six-month's nursery bleeding from the stomach. In the next minute, Johnny snaps and becomes a notorious supernatural hunter." Seraph smirked as he leaned his elbows on the table. "I've actually thought about writing your life story and making millions. It's quite the tale."

"How the hell do you know that's how Mary was?"

A bitter chortle escaped Seraph's lips as though the whole situation was comical. John had never wanted to strangle the living daylights out of anyone before. How could he laugh about Mary's death? His own sister? Had he not cared for her at all or had he completely lost his sanity?

"It's your fault she's dead, you know? You led her into this false sense of security. Mary thought that you were her knight in shining armor who could protect his family. So she slowly stopped keeping the protection up around the house."

"My fault?" barked John loudly. "My fault? Where the hell were you and your uncle? You didn't check up on us, you didn't keep in contact. Shit, Seraph, you could have told me the truth about everything! I should have known!"

John heard his blood pumping in his ears, could feel pure anger coursing through him. The audacity of the man sitting in front of him. The smartass was content at throwing around the blame and taking none of it himself.

"The hell, Winchester, you wouldn't have believed me or Mary. What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, brother, we're demon hunters so remember to keep the fuckin' doors and windows nice and salted. Don't forget to carry silver and iron around with you!' Don't even pretend you would have accepted it."

"But I did. After Mary… look where I am. I believe."

"You know, in any other circumstance, I probably would have loved you as a brother-in-law," Seraph admitted with a swift change of subject. "I mean, when I read that police report about how you nearly killed a guy when you were seventeen. Man."

Seraph whistled and leaned back into the bench. A smug smirk graced his features. John couldn't figure the guy out. He seemed neurotic, unstable, psychotic. Hell, pick any type of adjective that fits the profile of a crazy person and that was Benjamin Seraph.

"Don't remember, Winchester? You and some friends were at a concert. You went to find a girl that wandered away from the group. Found her pinned down by some strung out dude. You pounded him into the ground, landed him in the hospital for a good month," Seraph explained. "You're a guy who treats a lady right. I like that about you. You're also not afraid to beat a jerk to a bloody pulp. I like that about you as well."

"Where is this all going, Seraph? What the hell kind of mind game are you playing?"

John leaned back into the leather and wanted nothing more than to leave. He could remember that night, remembered being arrested and covered in another guy's blood. His mother had rushed into the police station crying her eyes out as the whole situation slowly unraveled itself. It was labeled as self-defense in the end, nothing appearing on his permanent record. Seraph must have done some heavy duty searching to find the report.

"Just letting you know I know all about you, Winchester. I know all about your boys too, my lovely nephews that I've never met. Dean seems like one hell of a guy. He's starting to build his own reputation in the hunting world. Sammy, on the other hand, is some kind genius who's veiled in hushed whispers. Nobody knows too much about him." Seraph leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I know better though. I know all about Sammy's little business with Yellow Eyes and his psychicness."

John could feel his heart pound wildly against his chest, threatening to burst free. He'd heard the rumors from demons before. To hear them from his estranged brother-in-law was another thing. Seraph was seriously unhinged, and John didn't want to think about what the hunter may do to his youngest son.

"Sammy's not psychic. Sorry to burst your bubble."

"Come on, Winchester. I know about Sam and the others. I'm not stupid."

"Sam's _not_ psychic," John insisted sternly. "I would know."

There was a glint of something that John couldn't recognize in Seraph's eyes. It was nearly impossible to think that Seraph and Mary were siblings, impossible to even consider the fact that they were related in any way, shape, or form.

"Mary was, you know," Seraph said nonchalantly as he pulled out a cigarette and a lighter from his leather jacket. "Assumed Sammy would be one too. I mean, the same thing happened to both of them, right?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

_No_. He could remember the words Abaddon said to him nearly a year ago. She said Mary and Sammy had been touched by some freak named Azazel, made them special. He never believed that demon, never believed she was telling the truth. Sure, Mary had nightmares and would wake up in a cold sweat. She wasn't psychic though. She couldn't be.

"She had a magical touch, Winchester. Didn't you ever notice it?" Seraph chuckled as he puffed out a ring of smoke. "She called Doug one day, said she could do things she never done before. It was shortly after she turned twenty-two. Said she could heal a cut, ease a headache, make a wilted flower rise again."

The words were faint as John's mind raced. He could remember as clear as day how Mary could give a few squeezes of his shoulders and make the most massive migraines disappear. She could make Sam and Dean stop crying nearly instantly, immediately knowing what they needed of her. The flowers either inside and outside the house were never wilted or limp. They were always in full bloom. He could remember Dean getting scratches, cuts, and bruises and Mary being able to sooth the kid with a soft kiss to the boo-boo.

"Ah, you do remember, huh, Corporal?"

"So you're saying that around the age of twenty-two, Sammy's going to heal crap?"

"Nah, it's different for everyone. Met a couple who had death visions, others who could read minds, even one who could deep-fry a person in half a second," Seraph said with a glint of excitement lacing his words. "Some of them need to be put down like the dogs they are while others are actually beneficial to hunters like us."

"You go anywhere near Sammy, and I will kill you."

"Whoa, Winnie, calm the hell down. Even if Sammy became one of those murderous, deep-frying freaks, I could never kill the kid. He's Mary's and no child of Mary's could be anything but pure."

John's mind was spinning, the wheels churning in over mode. It had taken him years to accept the fact that Mary had been a hunter in her life once upon a time. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind, made it seem as irrelevant as possible. Except now, Ben Seraph was sitting across from him and saying that Mary had been touched by something evil - touched by something that he'd been told touched Sammy. It was all too much to process let alone accept.

"That yellow-eyed sonofabitch killed my parents, killed my sister, and killed my uncle. I want revenge, Winchester, just as much as you do. So let's say you ditch your stray puppy and we hunt this sucker down?"

The offer was tempting, nearly as tempting as the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. Seraph, whose puffs of smoke snaked through the air, was deceitful. He could not be trusted, and John knew that. The enticement, however, was too alluring to pass up. Seraph knew more about Yellow-Eyes, _Azazel_, than anyone else John had ever been in contact with.

"Why should I trust you?" questioned John.

He snapped his gaze towards the bar where Jo was bouncing excitedly on the barstool and talking animatedly to Joshua. The boy had a soft smile on his face as he watched the blonde spread her arms wide and giggle. He could remember the last time he saw Jo. The girl had been in tears and questioning why her dad wasn't coming home again.

Bill Harvelle loved hunting. He grew up in the environment after the death of a family member - John never knew the details. It seemed like nearly all the hunters he met had started out because of a loved one's death. John never needed to know the specifics of hunters, because he didn't want to retell his sob story. He just needed to know he could trust them.

The obsession Bill felt, the drive to keep hunting ended up in his death. Bill could never stop hunting, never stop moving despite the fact that he had the perfect wife and daughter. Sometimes, John would wonder if his life of hunting would be the end of him. He had the perfect children. He could rebuild his life with the boys and save his family from anymore heartbreak. Except, knowing the threats that were out there made it impossible to just cease his mission.

In that moment, sitting in that booth with Benjamin Seraph, John knew that this hunt would end badly. Seraph couldn't be trusted to watch his back. If John was honest with himself, he couldn't be trusted to watch the guy's back either. They had a common goal but different ideals. There was no relationship between them. John didn't like the guy one bit, and the feeling was mutual. How could they possibly work together?

"You don't," Seraph decided to say. "I watch my back and you watch your back. I'm not risking my neck for you. We merely share information and figure this out together. Then, after that bastard is dead, we go our separate ways. We go back to hating each other and pretending we don't know one another."

"Fine. What do you know? What happened the night your parents died?"

"Mere never told you?" A smile crept its way on Seraph's face.

"She said there was a fire and how you two just barely got out."

"Heard my mother scream. Jumped out of bed and ran towards Mary's nursery. I walked in to see my father grabbing her out of the crib just in time before it burst into flames. I looked up and saw my mother pinned to the ceiling while bleeding from the stomach. I was handed Mary, and I hauled the ass out of there," he explained dryly. "How about you?"

John blinked. The words caught in his throat as he idly watched Seraph stab his cigarette into the wooden table. The older man sounded so detached, so indifferent about the whole situation. John couldn't understand it. How could Seraph show no emotion while talking about his parents dying?

"Fell asleep downstairs watching a war documentary. I heard… Mary scream," John forced himself to talk as steadily as possible. "Went into Sammy's nursery and nothing was there. I looked up and that's when… Mary… she…"

"Pinned to the ceiling with a gash across her stomach?" supplied Seraph.

"Yeah." John licked his dry lips. "That's when the fire started. Just… burst from around her. I grabbed Sammy and heard Dean yelling for me. I stopped him before he could enter the room. I gave Sammy to him, told him to get outside as fast as he could with his brother. I… I tried to save Mary, but she was… I ran outside and grabbed the boys just before the glass shattered. I, uh, looked up at the house. Saw a dark shadow standing in the flames just watching me and the boys. I knew that something wasn't right… that it was… so wrong."

"It's a demon."

Looking up at the man across from him, John was slightly taken aback that Seraph wasn't at all affected about the recount of his sister's death. How could anyone be so mechanical and withdrawn?

"I know," whispered John.

"Upper level demon too, I mean it would have to be because of the yellow eyes. I'm thinking it's a first hierarchy demon - would have to be. We ain't lookin' at no legion level."

John didn't know too much about the hierarchies of demons. It never really seemed that important until that moment. Seraph knew exactly what he was talking about. Hell, John was beginning to think Seraph knew more about demons than Bobby Singers and that was saying something.

"Azazel," John uttered softly.

"What?"

"Azazel. He's the demon we're looking for."

"How the hell do you know that?"

"Call it a lucky hunch."

If Seraph was suspicious or wanted more Intel, he didn't let on. He merely nodded as he lit up another cigarette and inhaled deeply. The arrangement the two had going on was one John appreciated. There was no double guessing, no questions. It was just facts and hunting. With that mentality, John could get through the hunt with Seraph.

"Gimme a couple of days. I gotta make sure the boys are all set for awhile."

"When do I get to meet my nephews?"

"Meet them? Are you insane? I'm not letting you within twenty miles of my boys," snapped John as Seraph looked slightly taken aback.

"Why not?"

"Why not? You've got to be kidding me, Seraph. I've heard the kind of shit you pull on hunts. Gordon Walker mean anything to you? You nearly got the kid killed, you jackass. I'm not letting you go near my boys, have you infect them."

"Well, damn if you aren't you all dark and twisty and cynical."

"Gimme your cell. I'll call you once I have the boys settled with something."

Digging into his pocket, Seraph produced a thick, leather-bound journal. Flipping to the back of book, he ripped out a sheet of paper and messily scrawled down a phone number. He folded it before sliding it across the table.

Without saying goodbye, John made his way over towards the bar where Jo was talking about how Danny and Rick were busting some sick ghost's behind a few towns over. Apparently, it was one evil sucker, and they wouldn't be back for a few more days.

"Hey, sorry to break this up, but we gotta head out, Joshua."

Jo's smile faded as she looked longingly up at the kid. Her curls bounced around her head as she nodded in defeat.

"Thanks for keeping me company, Jo," Joshua bid goodbye as he stood up. "I'll come back and talk to you again, okay?"

"Promise?" she questioned hopefully as he snorted.

"Frat boy's honor," commented Joshua as he made some weird hand gesture that John could have sworn was from Star Trek.

Shaking his head, John led the kid out of the Roadhouse and towards the small Camaro. Joshua chuckled as he hauled his body into the passenger's seat.

"Cute kid," he remarked with a smile.

"Yeah, she's real sweet," John replied as he started the engine.

"Reminded me of Audrey a little. She has the same blonde hair and bubbly personality."

John didn't know how to respond to that. Whenever Joshua would mention his sister's name, he had this far away tone in his voice as though he were daydreaming. John respected the kid's memories and didn't push him to say anything much. Little bits of information John could take, but he knew that he didn't need to know anything. Slowly, he was starting to warm up to Joshua.

"We gotta talk," John whispered as he cleared his throat, "because the next couple of days, weeks, aren't going to be what you might think they will be."

"What do you mean?"

"We can't hunt together for awhile. I gotta thing to do, but I'm gonna set you and Dean up on a hunt or two. When Sam finishes the semester, then he can join you two. It won't be for long, but I gotta do this."

John could feel Joshua's eyes on him, but he ignored them. Instead, he reached down and flicked on the radio station as Johnny Cash's voice filled the air. Officially, for now at least, the conversation was over with. They'd pick it up later after they crossed the state border or something like that.

* * *

Author's Notes - I'm terribly sorry about the horrific wait for this chapter. I've been extremely busy personally and with classes. Once April rolls around, the updates should be posted regularly. I do hope this chapter was worth the wait and that you all enjoyed it. Special thanks to Shannon for editing. 


	4. Cataclysm

**"The Dark Horse"**

**"Chapter Four: Cataclysm"**

John had been to war and back. He had seen death, felt death, breathed death. It was common in his life ever since he was a little kid. The first time he experienced death was when he was six. His aunt killed herself, and John was with his mother when they found her slouched in a chair with blood stains across her wrists. Apparently, she was mentally unstable, neurotic, sick. After that, death seemed to follow John around like a disease. John's father always said it was because the Winchesters were men of war, and death always seemed to latch onto soldiers. Gabriel Winchester would go into drunken slurred lectures about how military men had the most experience with death - they lived and breathed right along side the Reaper.

For years, John thought his father was just a delusional asshole - a man too concerned with wallowing in self-pity, one who didn't give two shits about his wife and son. Except, John slowly started to empathize with the man. In Vietnam, John watched a fellow brother in arms fall right in front of him. Monty Graham had been shot three times., and John would have died along with him if it weren't for Deacon Raines - the man that John still considered his best friend even after all these years. He barely spoke to the guy, but Deacon was the only one to believe him after Mary died and that was enough to secure their lifelong friendship. Thus, John understood that death was a guarantee in war, and that fact scared him more than anything else.

He'd heard about a raging war between demons and hunters for years. Jim Murphy made sure John was educated in past wars between hunters and supernatural beings. Another war was on the rise - a war of hunters versus psychics. John could deal with another war with faceless casualties. He couldn't, under any circumstance, deal with the death of his boys. Therefore, Dean and Sam were sheltered as much as possible from the cruel realities of life. They were well versed in hunting, but they knew next to nothing about demons. The war with demons, that was John's fight. There was no way that he was willing to let his boys get involved even if some stupid demon told him Sammy was some special psychic. Demons lied. End of discussion.

In war, or life in general, there were role models to be made. John grew up hearing about bad role models and falling into the wrong group of people. At one point, he was convinced that his father was the worst role model in the history of the world and falling into the jock squad was the right group of people. When Mary burned up and the hunting began, John understood that not only would death be a permanent fixture in his life but also that it would be easy to fall into the wrong group of people. Not all hunters were good. Not all hunters had a moral compass. A small percentage fought the good fight with level heads on their shoulders. Some were crazy, unhinged, insane. Others were just corrupt, evil, and had no morals whatsoever.

Ben Seraph was a combination of the latter two. In fact, Seraph was probably the most screwed up person John had ever met in his life. John knew that people were just unpredictable and crazy, but Seraph topped the cake. For reasons he couldn't fathom, John had agreed - _agreed_ - to go hunting with Seraph. He just hoped that his sons would never do anything so reckless.

With Seraph, cataclysm and war seemed appropriate. He'd heard stories about Ben Seraph for years, craving information on the in-laws he barely knew. Seraph was downright crazy. Death and destruction always lurked behind him. Hunting with Seraph when the hunters were on the verge of war with the demons? Well, that just screamed catastrophe. He wouldn't be surprised if violent upheavals broke out across the western plains in his wake. Never before had John done something as stupid and reckless as actually hunting with this guy. Just thinking about it, John feared he was turning into his father and that was the last thing in the world that he wanted.

On the drive back to Denver, Joshua fought to stay awake in the driver's seat. Slouched against the seat, head resting idly against the glass, he forced himself not to sleep for some reason that John couldn't comprehend. They needed to talk, because John couldn't have Joshua spilling any secrets to his boys. He had no idea what the younger hunter may have heard or was thinking. Either way, it wasn't good.

"Not all hunters are good," John broke the silence in his usual low rumble.

Glancing over at the kid, John watched as Joshua straightened up in the seat and made eye contact. Suddenly, he seemed more awake and eager to chitchat about the workings of the secret hunting world. This was a talk that John didn't want to have.

"Some people in this business aren't in it to help people. Some hunters lose sight of their mission, their purpose. That man you saw me with, he's not one of the good guys. Too much shit happened to him, and now his perspective is all screwed up. He's dangerous, Joshua, so you need to steer clear of him. He will not hesitate to kill you."

"But you're going to be hunting with him, aren't you?"

John didn't know whether or not to be touched with the amount of concern that dripped off Joshua's words. He had let Dean and Sammy down more times than he cared to count. He didn't want to feel the guilt of letting down someone else in his life, some kid who was looking up at him as some kind of mentor. Although, John would be lying if he denied that he didn't feel some sort of kinship to Joshua. The younger man had lost everyone close to him, lost everything that he ever knew, was thrown into a world that he could barely comprehend. In a sense, John wanted to protect Joshua like some kind of nephew. Maybe a nephew, John really didn't have a reference point.

"He has a lead," was all John could muster to say.

"About the monster that killed your wife?"

A puff of air escaped John's lips. If only the kid knew that this informant hunter was really his estranged brother-in-law. Not only were John, Dean, and Sammy a screwed up family, but their other relatives were just as messed up. It was epic really, a tale that _could_ be sold for millions.

"Listen, I keep Dean and Sam in the dark about the thing that killed their mother," John said sternly and tried to avoid any emotion. "You don't tell them anything. You don't tell them that this hunter I met had anything to do with Mary. You stay out of it, and you don't tell them anything. I'll tell them after I've figured everything out. We clear?"

"Yeah, John, of course."

By the time they reached the apartment back in Denver, it was three o'clock in the afternoon which worked out perfectly. Dean would be out picking up Sam from school and grabbing some dinner. That gave John the perfect opportunity to find Dean and Joshua an easy hunt, perhaps a small salt and burn that wouldn't last more than a weekend. That way, they could take Sam with them and not leave him alone.

While John was busy with newspapers sprawled across the table, Joshua lounged out on the dingy couch to flip through the channels of the crap television. The kid's boredom became apparent as he began to toss the remote in the air. Sighing, he called the kid over to help him look through a week's worth of news. If Joshua was going to be a hunter, he had better start preparing for the tedious work of finding cases.

All that could be heard was the rustling of newspapers for a good fifteen minutes before the youngest Winchesters came barreling through the front door. A joke rang between the brothers as they ambled into the apartment with pizza boxes and bags clenched in their hands.

"Dad, you're back," Dean said in surprise. "What happened?"

John's gaze flickered to Sammy before it rested on his eldest. Dean immediately caught the drift. They'd talk about it later. John understood that his little pitcher had big ears, but he couldn't bring himself to explain his hunt for Mary's killer. Sam, although, obviously caught the sideways glances because he sighed loudly and let a huff escape him.

"I got some stuff I need to take care of," John announced vaguely. "I'm gonna have you go hunting with Joshua, Dean. Maybe you can wait until the weekend and take Sam with you."

"Okay," replied Dean suspiciously as he tossed the pizza boxes on top of the newspapers.

"You'll be in charge," he continued. "Even though Joshua's older, you're more experienced. Therefore, it's your hunt and you pull rank."

Dean sunk down into the nearest chair and stared at his father in disbelief. This certainly had never happened before in the Winchester family. Sure, Dean was put in charge a lot, but he had never been in charge of a hunt. Hell, this was the first time Dean was going on a hunt without his father.

"What?" questioned Dean.

"You're nineteen, Dude, I trust your judgment and your skill. You can run this hunt. I know you can."

John flashed his son a proud smile, trying to send as much encouragement as he could. Dean just sat there in disbelief with a soft, smug smirk gracing his features. John was never much of a talker. In fact, he rarely gave out praise or support. He knew if Dean was going to run his first hunt, then he needed his father's words.

"It's a lot of responsibility, Dean. Are you up for that?"

"Ye-yeah, of course."

Shuffling through the newspapers, John grabbed one that was circled several times in black ink. The paper was tossed over to Dean who peered down at the contents. John leaned back into the wooden chair until it balanced on its hind legs.

"It's a spook," John supplied as Dean continued to read. "Dean will explain how to get rid of one."

"You mean like a ghost?" questioned Joshua.

"Whatever. Same thing. It's two towns over."

The next morning, John told gave the three boys the rules and regulations. It was standard stuff that Dean had heard over a thousand times at least. His oldest could relay the information in his sleep if need be. John told them all to be safe during the hunt and that he'd call every other night.

As soon as the Impala pulled out of the parking ramp, John immediately punched in the numbers of Ben Seraph's cell phone. The conversation was brief. They were meeting in New Mexico just outside of Navajo territory. John didn't question it, because Seraph wouldn't tell him a damn thing even if he did inquire why they were going there of all places. It didn't matter. They were going to figure out Azazel's plans, motives, everything.

Upon arriving at the destination, John entered a small dinner to grab a bite to eat and figure out what was going on in the town. People were dropping like flies in the small town. Witnesses claimed they saw a large animal-like figure peering into their windows late at night. Some claimed that voices of children could be heard outside, parents would investigate, and then wind up dead. In other cases, mysterious vehicle deaths were taking place. The windows would be smashed, claw marks adorned the hood and doors, the passengers would be slaughtered. They were two separate events that seemed to tie in to one another.

"Glad to see you could make it," Seraph said as he slid in the booth across from John. "Nice articles to read while eating, huh?"

"What is it? A demon?" questioned John.

"Fuck no, Winnie, this thing here is a skin-walker, a badass, ancient Navajo skin-walker that's on a killing spree." Seraph flagged down the waitress and ordered a coffee. "Demon. Nice, Winnie. Learn how to research next time, m'kay?"

"I'm sorry, I was under the impression that we were hunting Azazel and other demons. I didn't know that we'd be hunting a freakin' skin-walker," hissed John.

The waitress slid a plate of burger and fries in front of John. She turned towards Seraph and handed him a cup of steaming coffee. With a wink towards Seraph's way, she sauntered away from the table shaking her hips back and forth in a seductive way. She was a girl in her early thirties who obviously had a thing for biker boots, scars, and mysterious men that looked dangerous.

"Don't have a heart attack, Winchester. We'll get to hunting Azazel, but first I need to do this job."

"Why?"

"Why? Because this is for a business associate of mine. I scratch his back, and he scratches mine. It works out in the end." Seraph pulled a pack of smokes from his leather jacket. "You got a problem with that?"

"You're positive that this is a skin-walker?"

"It's not just a skin-walker, Winnie. This is an ancient Navajo skin-walker who is an evil human sonofabitch that gained special supernatural powers by murdering a close relative. These skin-walkers take the form of a half-man, half-beast. The beast part is usually a wolf or coyote. I really hope this one is a coyote. Seems like it with the patterns."

At least the guy knew his stuff. John picked up a fry and studied it hard. One thing he didn't expect from Seraph was to be so cool and calm about a hunt. He knew the information, probably had a plan of how to follow through with the actual killing. John hated to admit it, but he was impressed.

"Know how to kill a skin-walker, Winchester?"

"Uh, silver bullet to the heart," replied John.

"Legend goes that even silver bullets don't put the dogs down," Seraph explained as he let out a puff of smoke. "It wounds them something evil but isn't actually fatal. Lore says that a Navajo must obtain the full name of the human turned skin-walker. They say the name and three days later the walker starts stinking up the joint."

A soft chuckle escaped John's lips. This guy was a walking encyclopedia of weird. A pure Navajo skin-walker seemed like it was rare. John had never heard of one actually living and breathing before. He'd heard of other skin-walkers, of course, but never the original. For Seraph to know the old school lore, it was more than impressive.

"What can we do then? Unless, you're a secret Navajo guy from Tulsa…" John trailed off with a smirk.

"Nah, I'm thinking we just go in and shoot the thing with a silver bullet to the heart. Then, we go and behead the damn thing. Sound good?"

"You want to behead it? What if a skin-walker can regenerate a head or something?"

"_That_ would be awesome, and I would have no qualms about letting it do its thing then."

John couldn't tell if Seraph was joking or not. For the sake of the guy's sanity, John hoped he was joking.

When night rolled around, John found himself sitting in a car alone with Ben Seraph - luckily, they had agreed to take the Impala and not Seraph's hunk of junk truck. Guns packed with silver bullets laid in their laps as they sat outside a nice looking house. For the past two nights, the residents claimed that a huge animal-like creature had been peering in their windows. They could only assume that the skin-walker had found its next victims.

"Nice ride," Seraph commented as he casually sifted through the glove compartment.

"You mind not touching my stuff?"

"What, Winnie, you got some tampons you don't want me finding?"

Seraph snorted as he pulled out a small box from the compartment. Flicking the top open, he glanced down at a pile of photographs. The top one was a picture of two boys lounging lazily on a couch. Their socked feet were propped up on a coffee table. The oldest boy held a hand up to block his face from the camera while the younger one smiled shyly.

"This Dean and Sam?"

"Yeah, it was taken several months ago up at Jim Murphy's. Jim has this thing about taking pictures of the boys to capture the essence of their youth. He seems to think they'll want to reminisce about it when they're older."

"Dean-o doesn't like his picture taken?"

"What teenage boy does?" remarked John.

He tried to ignore Seraph sifting through the photographs of his life with the boys. It seemed somehow right to allow the guy to see pictures of the nephews he never knew. It wasn't like John was going to let the guy meet them so pictures were the next best thing right? Hell, John had shown pictures of the boys to Ellen and Bill before. Just because he was protective of the boys didn't mean he didn't like to show them off whenever he could. They were smart, handsome, funny, resourceful boys. He was lucky to have kids like them even though they didn't always get along.

"Dean looks like a Seraph," Seraph commented emotionless. "He has the coloring, the eyes, and even the damn freckles."

Glancing to the right, John saw the picture Seraph was looking it. It was taken a couple months after the new school year started. It was Dean's first year out of high school, and he was in high spirits. Therefore, when open house came around, Dean insisted that he tag along for the meet-and-greet. Sam had been pissed for most of the night as Dean took lead in the conversations about his kid brother's education. John had just stood back and watched, perfectly happy not to partake because it was always the same year after year. By the end of the night, Dean had purchased the school's apparel: a t-shirt, cap, and zip-up hoodie. The t-shirt read, 'Proud Glendale High Parent'. Much to Sam's embarrassment, Dean had pulled the bright red teenager into a one-armed hug and laid the other arm around the school mascot. John had taken the picture. Sam hadn't talked to either of them for two weeks. It was worth it though.

"Yeah, he does," replied John sadly. "He's got Mary's spirit too."

"Poor Sam looks like you. Too bad he didn't get the Seraph good looks."

For a few seconds, John could have sworn he saw a small bout of emotion flash through Seraph's face as he stared down at the two nephews he never got to know. As soon as the look appeared, it vanished. Seraph's face was indifferent once more, void of all and any emotion. That was what worried John most about the man sitting next to him. John didn't wear his heart on his sleeve or anything like that, but he had broken before. He had melted down in his darkest hours, succumbed to emotions he tried so hard to keep at bay. It happened. It's happened more times than John cared to count. When Mary died, everyone could see he was just a mess. He wasn't John Winchester in the weeks that followed her death but rather some drunken, sobbing mess on the floor. When he killed Bill, it took him hours to compose himself before burning the body. It took him weeks to even look at his boys without being consumed with guilt. He killed a fellow father. Most of the time, when he thought of Mary, he couldn't contain his emotions. When something would happen to his boys, he'd be a wreck. Seraph, on the other hand, was eerily calm and composed all the time.

The sound of rustling jerked John out of his reverie. Glancing towards the house, illuminated under the porch lights, was a creature stalking around the front window. A grayish hand reached up and dragged its claws across the glass.

"Seraph, we've got company."

The box of memories was shoved into the glove department. The hunters glanced at one another before nodding once in understanding. They eased out of the car carefully, the safety of their guns switching off. There was possible route for escaping. It was a small neighborhood where the backyards were made mostly of desert grasses and sagebrush. There were few houses in the neighborhood as houses were spread apart.

The skin-walker intently stared inside the house almost as if urging the owners to step outside. That's when John heard the childish giggles. The hunters were crouched low to the ground and were light on their feet as they advanced forward. Guns drawn out in front of them, John turned towards Seraph to start communication through military gestures. Seraph, however, had his own plan which was the worst plan in the world. He shot his gun, nailing the skin-walker to the right of where the heart would be.

There was a god-awful screech that rang through the night air before the creature bolted. John cursed as he ran as fast as he could after the skin-walker. Seraph wasn't far behind him. Their boots crunched loudly against the desert grass as they dashed. The monster was obviously wounded, because the two hunters were keeping up with the thing. Something told John that if it wasn't hurt, it would have been long gone.

Without missing a beat, John raised his gun and fired. The bullet hit the creature above the heart, and it let out another dreadful shriek of pain. Seraph then shot again, marking the thing to the left of the heart. The skin-walker doubled over. The screeching was constant as the thing struggled to stand again. Seraph reached for the machete hanging from his leather belt. In one swift swing, the skin-walker's head lobbed off the neck. The head landed on the ground and rolled away. The torso of the body slammed down into the hard ground. Blood stained the dead-looking grass.

"Go back to the car and get the supplies. Let's burn this sonofabitch," Seraph said in a calm voice as he wiped the bloody blade against his pant leg.

John jogged back to the Impala, his gun situated comfortably between the waistband of his jeans and the flesh of his back. He'd beheaded a vampire before - his first time hunting with Elkins back in '84. Held the machete, swung, and the head snapped off like some sort of twig - he was covered in blood and breathing heavily. It was his first decapitation after all. He threw up when Elkins wasn't looking and vowed he would never become a vampire hunter. He wasn't so much in love with the gory crap, but he could hold his stomach to it now after everything he'd seen. Vaguely, he wondered just how many things Seraph beheaded annually, because John sure as hell avoided it where he could.

Once back at the Impala, he moved the car to another street just in case the cops were called due to the gunshots. Popping the trunk, he grabbed a container of salt and gasoline. He stuffed them in an old Marine duffle bag before heading back out to where Seraph and his beheaded friend were located.

John started to salt the bottom part of the body and doused it with the gas. He fumbled in his leather jacket for his matchbook of matches while watching Seraph stuffed the head of the skin-walker into the Marine bag. He zipped it up and hauled it over his shoulder.

"What the hell are you doing?" John questioned as he stroked the match and let it fall to the ground. "We need to salt and burn that head."

"Nah, let's not. I kinda want it for a souvenir."

"A s-souvenir? You want a head of a skin-walker as a souvenir?"

"Well, you know, it _is_ our first hunt together and all. I'm a sentimentalist."

John knew he shouldn't leave the skin-walker burning unattended, but he couldn't allow Seraph to just walk away nonchalantly as though collecting the heads of supernatural creatures was perfectly normal.

"Seraph!"

"Look, Princess, calm down, all right?"

John couldn't calm down. He had mental pictures of some backwoods cabin with heads of supernatural beings nailed up on every inch of the walls. It was downright creepy, not to mention that _not_ destroying the head could cause problems later. They needed to salt and burn the head.

"What are you doing?" demanded John very similar to the way he would talk to a very stubborn four-year-old Sammy who was caught red-handed doing things he wasn't supposed to be doing.

"Holding my end to a business arrangement."

"A business arrangement?"

"Yeah, Winnie, that's what I said. There are people who would pay big bucks to get their hands on rare, unique items to sell."

"Who the hell would want to buy the head of a skin-walker?"

"A man I like to call Frankie."

Seraph turned around, a smirk dancing on his features as some sort of joke rang through the air. John didn't understand the gag, and he was nearly positive there was a very childish scowl etched onto his face.

"Tell me."

"I'll _show_ you. You're my brother-in-law, right?"

The title vibrated in the still night air, and John didn't have any words to say. Seraph was notorious for his treachery, and John had a feeling that he was being played. Even though the idea rang in his mind, he didn't dare say anything aloud. John was willing let Seraph think that he had the upper hand, that he was pulling the wool over the younger hunter's eyes.

They wandered back towards the burning body of the skin-walker to ensure that New Mexico didn't go up in flames. There was no conversation between them as the flames hungrily devoured the creature. John glanced over at Seraph to see the blaze reflecting in the hunter's eyes. It flickered so menacingly in the familiar green orbs that knots twisted in John's stomach.

The next morning, John woke up in a dingy motel to pounding. Then, he heard a gruff shout of "WINCHESTER!" that made him groan. Glancing over at the nearest clock, John realized it was five in the morning. He'd gotten two hours of sleep. Rolling out of bed, John ambled slowly to the motel door and wrenched it open to see Seraph standing there with the straps of the old Marine duffel clenched in his left hand.

"We're burning daylight. Let's go, Jarhead."

John drove the Impala while Seraph drove in front of him in a beat up pickup truck. It was an old 1973 Ford F-series baby blue truck that looked like it had been through the war. The truck was so reminiscent of Mary's old truck that John's heart ached. A large lump formed in his throat as he twisted the volume knob on the radio higher. The words of Led Zeppelin blasted through the Impala and tried to wash out the grief that filled John.

They passed through three towns before they stopped in front of a worn-down warehouse. John cut the engine and watched as Seraph exited his truck with the duffle bag in hand. Slowly, John exited the Impala and followed the older man into the warehouse. They walked through the main room towards the back of the building where a rickety spiral staircase was located. They climbed the steps carefully as loud creaks emitted from the metal.

Once upstairs, the second level was filled with activity. Men and women were everywhere sorting through boxes, taping up packages, and talking on cell phones. There was one man in the center of all the attention dressed in a crisp suit. He lazily talked on his cell phone and examined his nails as though to pass the time.

"… not my problem, Mother," the man said in a thick British accent, "she should be locked up and the key thrown away. I'm not her father, and I refuse to even attempt to play the role. She doesn't even want me in her life, and I'm perfectly fine with that. Listen, Mother, I'm sorry, I have to go. My client just arrived."

The man snapped the cell phone closed and sneered at the two hunters. Stuffing the cell phone into his sports coat, he pulled out a pack of fine cigars and lit one up. John had a feeling that this man smoking wasn't a friend of Seraph. There really was no recognition, no familiarity between the two men. There was just a curt nod in the general direction. Seraph stepped forward and swung the bag forward to show the man what he had.

"Charming, Benjamin."

"Hey, Frankie, let's do business, huh?"

"Yes, let's go somewhere private. I have what you asked for ready in the next room."

Seraph shot John a look that clearly read _stay put while the grownups talk_ before following the posh-looking man into another room. John was pissed, tired, and just wanted to know what the hell was going on. Then, some kid who couldn't have been older than Joshua crossed the room and stopped short of John.

"You know, Mate, I wouldn't trust Franklin with my enemy's socks," the kid told him in a thick accent. "There are some nasty rumors circulating about him."

"You want me to ask about these rumors, right?"

"I want you to know you shouldn't trust Franklin… or Mister Seraph."

"I don't trust either of them as far as I could throw them," John replied dryly. "Okay, Kid, I'll bite. Tell me the nasty rumor."

The kid smirked and glanced at the door that Seraph and this Franklin guy disappeared through. It was some small office-type room, the only of its kind in the run-down warehouse. The door was closed tight, the blinds drawn down at the windows."It's rumored that Franklin killed his brother and sister-in-law for some sort of special amulet. In the process, he orphaned his two young nieces. Rumor has it that he has it out for his eldest niece, because she has this amulet in her possession unknowingly."

"What's your name, Kid?"

"Nigel Blackheart."

"I'm John Winchester, and I could really care less about the troubles of some snobbish family. I'm a hard-working, lower-class citizen who doesn't give two shits about the rich and fabulous lives of those who live on the Upper East Side. You catch my drift, Nigel?"

The kid looked about ready to recite some witty rejoinder when the office door opened again. The kid slid away from John quickly and fumbled with the nearest package. John dismissed the kid as he glanced over at Seraph and this Franklin fellow. They were shaking hands, and Seraph had a thick manila folder tucked securely under his arm.

Once outside the warehouse, Seraph had this wicked grin on his face. His pace sped up slightly as his strides stretched out. John barely had time to register what happened next. There was a loud explosion from behind him. Diving forward, John's hands scraped against the asphalt parking lot. Flat on his stomach, he looked up to see Seraph just grinning at the scene behind him. John craned his neck back to see the warehouse partly destroyed.

"What the fuck, Seraph?" shouted John as he struggled to his feet.

His hands were covered in crimson and burned. His pants were ripped at the knees, blood was slowly gushing out onto the jean fabric. John's breath came out in small pants because of his anger and sheer disbelief. _What the hell?_

"He had it coming," was all that Seraph said. "Come on, Winnie, let's go."

"No, what the hell, Seraph? You probably killed people!"

"Yeah, Johnny, that was the point," Seraph dragged out his words as though he were talking to a child. "You see, when you want someone dead, you usually kill them."

"You're insane."

"You're not insane enough," he bit back. "Follow me. I got what we need."

John was in half a mind to drive back to Denver as fast as he could and get his kids the hell away from the apartment. Then there was another part of John that wanted to follow Seraph and figure out what was in the folder. Seraph was an enigma who was cold, serious, and very dangerous. Therefore, instead of following his heart to Denver, he followed his curiosity with a false sense of security that Seraph wouldn't harm him because he was Mary's husband.

They drove for hours without stopping. They crossed into Colorado, and John only prayed they wouldn't stop in Denver. There was no way in hell that Seraph was meeting Dean and Sammy. They passed through Denver before crossing over into Wyoming. They were about a mile away from Cheyenne when Seraph cut the engine to his beat up truck outside of another crap warehouse. This warehouse bore a giant sign that read, "Condemned" on it, but John had a feeling Seraph didn't really give two shits.

They walked into the warehouse side-by-side with only a large bag in-between them. The bag was full with equipment because the fabric was stretched over odd shaped objects. Once inside, Seraph carefully set down the bag and unzipped it. He pulled out chalk, a bowl with odd symbols etched into the sides, and a blade.

"What are you doing?"

Seraph paid no attention to the demand. With a piece of thick white chalk in one hand, he drew a straight line onto the concrete floor. On each side of the line, round circles were drawn. Tearing his eyes away from the drawing, John's attention rested on several black candles pouring out of the duffle bag. Something wasn't right. Seraph was doing something very dangerous.

"What are you doing, Seraph?" demanded John once more.

"Put the candles in these circles here. Make yourself useful, John-John."

There were four more circles drawn - two above and two below the main line. Seraph then started to draw a 'V' to connect the bottom circles together. The tip of the 'V' rested in-between the two circles above the main line.

"Seraph, answer me!"

"We're summoning Azazel, Winchester. We're going to figure this bastard out right now." Seraph sighed. "That's why I set off my homemade bomb. I don't want those prissy shitheads knowing anything about Azazel, knowing anything about Mary."

The words of Jim Murphy flooded his head. _Are you going to summon Abaddon and Azazel to demand answers? They're powerful, so powerful that not even a Devil's Trap could hold them for long. Do you honestly have a death wish?_ No, John had sons at home to think about. He couldn't blindly summon Azazel without a way to kill it. Seraph didn't have a plan, that much John knew.

Then the fact that Seraph had murdered people for the information on Azazel was also unsettling. Even more unsettling was the fact that someone survived the blast and would be out for blood - John's blood for being there. They could think he planted the bomb while Seraph was securing the information. That didn't sit well for John at all.

"We're not summoning him here!"

"Why the hell not, Winchester? This demon killed your wife, marked your son, made your whole fuckin' life miserable. Why not summon it?"

"We don't have an exit strategy! We can't kill it!"

"Listen, Jarhead, we can send this thing back to Hell where it belongs! I'm not standing around with my thumbs up my ass waiting until you come up with your perfect exit strategy. This isn't the Marines!"

John wanted nothing more than to summon the demon and look it straight in its eyes. He wanted nothing more than to send the thing back to Hell, to kill it. Except, a demon that powerful wouldn't last long in Hell. It would crawl its way out of the pit and come at his family ten times as hard. He couldn't take that risk when Sammy and Dean were still too young and inexperienced. His craving for revenge would have to wait until he knew his kids were safe and far away.

"This isn't Amateur Demon Hunting 101, Seraph! This is the major leagues we're dealing with. This demon is one powerful sonofabitch; and if you think it's going to just sit around in Hell like a good little demon, then you're more delusional than you look!"

"It'll be worth it though, Winnie. Just send that bastard back to Hell. Come on, you know you want to do it. Talk to it and find out why it did everything it did."

"I can't be apart of this. I have two - three kids at home who need to be taken care of. I can't risk this now without a surefire way to kill it. This plan, it's suicidal and reckless."  
"Three kids? You count that stray puppy as one of your own now? What obligation do you have to him?"

"What obligation do I have to him? His parents are dead! His kid sister is dead! He has nobody, and I'll be damned if I let someone like you do him in!"

Seraph scoffed as the chalk rolled from his fingertips. There was a twisted sneer worked up on his face. He straightened up to his full height. Even though the guy was a good three inches shorter than him, John still felt intimidated. John didn't back down though, didn't flinch away from the intense glare being shot his way.

"You know they call you the _Dark Horse_," Seraph said in a low rumble as he dug through his jacket pocket for his smokes. "John Winchester: the Dark Horse. I never quite understood why you were such an enigma. You started out in the business just like everyone else. Then, I finally heard the story about Bill Harvelle and I suddenly understood why people were so goddamn afraid of you that they uttered your name in hushed whispers."

Puffs of smoke filled the already musty air of the old warehouse. A knot in John's chest coiled his insides. His breath hitched in his throat. The wisps of smoke were not helping John's breathing. He kept perfectly still, his gaze steady, as he waited for Seraph to say something more.

The subject of Bill Harvelle wasn't one John liked to talk about. He liked to imagine that Bill never existed, that Bill was just some horrible nightmare. They had become friends, _best_ friends, over the course of the years. Bill had been his equal, his partner in crime. Though they rarely hunted together, there was a sort of kinship between them. They instantly understood each other in ways that nobody else could. Ellen used to joke that they were separated at birth. Jo used to call him Uncle Johnny.

"You don't know shit about Bill," snapped John.

"I know more than you think I know." Seraph smirked through the cigarette smog. "You going to put a bullet in my head too? Hell, Winnie, you going to put _three_ bullets through my skull and another one through my heart just like Billy?"

The air had been sucked out of John's lungs and replaced with ice. There were people who knew the gist of what happened - Jim and Caleb being among them. They didn't know the whole story, because John wasn't willing to share. He'd never revealed that information before. He never told anyone that he'd shot his best friend four times at point blank range.

"What, John-Boy? You don't think I did my homework on you while you were off finding a hunt for Dean-o and that Harper kid? You don't think that I haven't kept up with your family since you met Mary?"

John didn't know how to respond, didn't know what to think. Hell, John didn't do his research on Seraph. He knew the guy was one screwed up bastard and heard a couple of stories, but John had never searched for details of Seraph or his uncle. It never seemed to matter that much until Seraph was spilling out John's life story. Maybe he really could write a book.

"I don't understand you, Seraph," admitted John honestly.

"Who do you want to summon then, Winchester?"

Ben Seraph changed subjects so quickly and so frequently that John was suspecting that he was touched in the head. His emotions varied as well. One second he'd be bitter and cynical. The next second he would be in full hunter mode and sounding somewhat like a sane hunter. John couldn't figure it out: was it a game or was this just how Seraph was?

"I know a summoning ritual that will bring the nearest demon to us. Catchy, right?"

"I think we need to just stop this."

"Why?"

"Because this is dangerous, Seraph! Look, I want revenge just as much as you, Man, maybe even more so. I got kids at home though, and I gotta be careful. If I die, what happens to Sammy?"

"Don't kid yourself, Winchester. With every day that passes, you want to die more and more because you don't know how to deal. You had it all - the apple pie life. You had the beautiful wife, the two cute kids, the pet dog, the house, the nice neighborhood, great friends, and your own business. Then, one day your dog dies. Then, it's your wife. Next, you lose your perfect house in the nice neighborhood. Your friends then turn on you, call social services on your ass. You find out your wife's secret life before she met you - know she was a hunter, a criminal, a killer. Then, you find out your youngest, innocent son has demon blood in him, is going to turn into some kind of psychic. Said kid starts to hate your guts because you stole the apple pie life away from him. You're so scared that Dean's going to turn on you too. You couldn't take it if Dean starts to hate you, because he's always been your favorite. If one of your kids was going to hate you, you're glad it's Sammy because you're so jealous that he's not all dark and twisted like you and Dean. You _hate_ him because he doesn't wake up screaming from seeing his mom pinned to the ceiling, _hate_ him because he doesn't remember how hot the fire was on his skin."

"You don't know shit, Seraph. I love Sammy just as much as I love Dean."

John didn't hate Sammy for any of that stuff. He was happy that Sam didn't remember that night, the fire, what happened after. Perhaps he was a little jealous that Sam could be normal, but he didn't hate the kid because he didn't suffer through Mary's death.

"We're done, Seraph," John announced.

"We're just getting started, Johnny."

John stared at Seraph long and hard. He placed his most intimidating, serious face he could muster. Their arrangement was over with. John couldn't hunt with Seraph anymore. The mind games had become too much, too rough. So, John turned his back to his brother-in-law and steadily strode towards the exit.

A loud _BANG_! sounded throughout the warehouse. Intense pain filled John's shoulder as he stumbled forward. His hand shot up and clenched at the throbbing pain. The slickness of blood was smooth against his skin. Glancing down to the right, John could see crimson seeping through his fingers. Seraph shot him. He'd been freakin' shot! Whipping around, John turned to glare at the older hunter. Just as he was fully turned around, a flash of silver flew out of nowhere and collided with his temple. Stumbling backwards, an invasion of black dots filtered into his vision. He felt his body collide with the cold, grimy floor before everything went black.

* * *

Author's Notes - I hope you enjoyed the latest installment. Updates for this story and the rest of the series should be updated regularly now. The past couple of months have been weird to say the least, but everything's back in order. Therefore, updates won't take a month or more to appear. Thanks so Shannon for editing for me yet again. Don't forget to review.


	5. Ungodly and Sinners

**"The Dark Horse"**

**"Chapter Five: Ungodly and Sinners"**

John's mother always said that her son was going to grow up to be a man of virtue. She had high expectations for him, held her only child on a pedestal so high that he was certain to fail. Sure, John had morals - believed he held good virtues. Mary had always said he was a man to be proud of, a man who could be counted on to make the right decisions. Except, ever since Mary died, John didn't feel like a man of virtue or a man who would make the right choices. He felt like a man of many mistakes, fumbling constantly on the winding road of life.

As the years wore on, John's morals seemed to shift. Things that seemed so very gray in the past were now strictly black and white. There was evil and then there was good. There wasn't an in-between, no halfway. The good people in the world knew that sometimes the right thing to do was the hardest. The bad people knew between right and wrong, hard and easy, and choose to do the former of each: wrong and easy. John always thought he'd be the good guy who would make the right choices but as the sand in the hourglass kept falling, John soon started to think he'd diverged onto the wrong path like so many hunters before him.

Doubt plagued John's mind as he sat on the hood of the Impala with Mary at Sagers Lake's Lovers Lane. The water glistened in the moonlight as Mary swung her right leg to fold underneath her. Her dress rode up and exposed more of her milky thigh. John reached out and trailed a finger along the soft flesh.

"Remember this night all those years ago?" questioned Mary softly as she gazed out at the twinkling water.

How could John forget that night they met? They'd sat on the hood of the Impala eating burgers and fries, talking briefly about their lives and beliefs, and then had made love on the hood. John had never felt so happy in his life, never experienced anything like being with Mary for the first time.

"How could I forget?" his voice was thick and rough.

"It seems like a lifetime ago."

John could only nod as he stared at her. She looked just as beautiful as the first time he laid eyes on her. Her hair was wrapped in loose curls that framed her face covered in faint freckles - freckles that could only be seen if John was a mere inch from her face. Green orbs gazed dreamily at the lake, her pink lips twisted up into a knowing smirk.

"You're not real are you?"

"I'm as real as you want me to be," she replied sadly as she glanced at him. "I live inside of you, John, for always."

"But this isn't real… it's a dream or something…"

Her hand reached out and her fingertips grazed the flannel shirt where his heart was. Her eyes never left his face. She stared intensely at him, and John stared back just as hard. He knew that he wouldn't be at Sagers Lake with her forever, and he wanted to make sure to engrave her into his brain for eternity.

"I think your brother's right," John spoke softly. "I want nothing more than to just die so I can be with you every second."

"And where would that leave Dean and Sammy?"

At the mention of his sons, his heart ached. He screwed up so many times when it came to his boys, but he loved them more than anything else in the world. He would go to Hell and back if it meant keeping his boys safe. He would kill every single sonofabitch that dared threatened his sons. He just wanted them to be happy, healthy, and safe.

"There are good days, Mary, that I just love looking at Dean… love talking to him. He reminds me so much of you. He looks so much like you, acts so much like you that it's refreshing. Sometimes it feels like you never left. Then there are bad days where I literally get sick to my stomach just to look at him… talk to him. Some days I just hate that he's so much like you." John's gaze landed on Mary's pink toes that were peaking out from underneath her thigh. "I can never yell at him, never get angry at him for too long. Sammy though, it's so easy to look at him and see myself and just rip the kid a new one. He knows I favor Dean sometimes, and he hates me for it. I can't say I blame him though."

"You love them both, John. You would do anything for them."

"I would."

Glancing up, John gazed into Mary's features. They were features that sometimes seemed hazy in his mind. There were times when he would wake up and not remember the right pattern of freckles that littered her nose and cheeks, the right shade of green in her eyes, the shape of her lips, the curve of her nose, the protrusion of her ears. They were fragmented details that slowly started to slip from his grasp.

"I miss you so much… I would give my life just to have one more day with you."

"I'm always with you, with Dean, with Sammy. God protects you, but I'm the one who watches over you."

"Everything reminds me of you. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about you."

"And I'm there, John, watching out for my three favorite boys."

"I wish I could sit here with you forever… just forget all the pain, the guilt, the misery."

"You can't. You need to wake up and protect our sons."

John nodded in understanding. He knew he had to wake up, knew he had to protect his sons from not only the supernatural but their psychotic uncle. Except, a part of John was selfish, part of him didn't want to go back to his crummy life of hunting. He would be completely content to just sit lazily on the hood of the Impala next to Mary at Sagers Lake until the end of time.

"I love you, John."

The reply of _I love you more_ was on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't for the life of him get the words out. The response he said so many times in the past now tasted bitter in his mouth. He couldn't say the words so easily anymore, couldn't allow the words to be said in vain to some Mary that only existed in his head.

"Me too," he choked out instead.

Soft hands caressed his cheeks as Mary's face drew slowly into his. He could feel her warm breath tickle his nose, feel her warm lips brushing against his, feel the wetness of her tongue slide over his lips.

One minute John was kissing Mary and the next everything was dark. A constant beeping rang in his ears as he fought his way through the pit of darkness. Something warm and familiar clenched his hand tightly as his eyelids fluttered. Spots of white crossed his vision. That's when everything started to make sense. He'd been shot and knocked out by his crazy brother-in-law. Hell, John wouldn't be surprised if Seraph had left him in that warehouse to die.

"Dad?"

Turning his head towards the scared voice, John saw his eldest son peering at him with concern shining in his green eyes - Mary's eyes. Tearing his gaze away from Dean, John spotted Joshua standing behind the kid's chair. He looked nervous, on guard as he shifted his weight from leg to leg. His eyes flickered across the room before resting on John once more.

Slowly, John turned his head to look to the other side of the bed. Sammy stood there with his arms crossed over his chest. Except, John really didn't notice his youngest son. He was too busy looking behind Sam to where Ben Seraph stood with his hands resting comfortably on the kid's shoulders. Anger flared up inside of John. The fucking bastard!

Seraph was just standing there like an idiot with a smirk dancing on his face. The older hunter looked like he won the lottery, and he was rubbing it in John's face. The one thing John didn't want to ever occur was for Seraph to _meet_ his sons. He didn't give a crap if Seraph was family or not - the guy was seriously unhinged and dangerous. Hell, John had never let his own _father_ meet Dean and Sammy.

"What the hell?" John rasped out.

He struggled to sit up, to go pound Seraph into the freakin' ground, but Dean's hands were on his chest and pushing him back down onto the bed lightly.

"Dad, it's okay. Ben's the one that saved your life. He's a hunter, was hunting the same demon as you," explained Dean quickly.

John couldn't help but snort as he glared at Seraph. So this was Seraph's big plan, huh? He was going to nearly kill John, attempt to save his life, and meet his estranged nephews in the process? What the hell? Oh, John was going to kill him.

"Joshua, why don't you take Dean and Sammy down to the cafeteria to grab a bite to eat?" suggested John as his eyes blazed at Seraph.

"Dad, are you joking?" questioned Dean in disbelief. "You nearly died, and you just want us to leave?"

The words _I want you safe_ laid on the tip of his tongue, but John bit them back. Those words would be too suspicious, give away too much. Instead, John's hard gaze landed on Joshua, silently giving the kid permission to get his sons out of the room by any means possible. The last thing he wanted was for Seraph to contaminate Dean and Sammy.

"Come on, the quicker we eat, the quicker we can come back," Joshua spoke softly.

Dean glared at Joshua, mistrust and anger shining in his eyes. The kid turned towards his father, one last pleading look to stay resting in his eyes. John smiled and gave Dean's hand a tight squeeze and a silent promise to explain everything later. Except, John wouldn't be explaining anything later. He'd make up some excuse, spin a story that Dean would believe and let the whole thing rest.

"Go on, Sam, I'll protect your dad," Seraph said as he squeezed the kid's shoulders.

Sam crossed the room to Dean and Joshua before all three left. John waited until the door was closed and their faint footfalls couldn't be heard anymore. There was so much that had built up inside of John that he didn't know where to start. The sheer audacity of Seraph - John had never hated anybody more in his life.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" snapped John.

"You wouldn't let me meet my nephews, so I improvised."

A smile so twisted worked its way up onto Seraph's face as they eased down into the nearest chair. Kicking up his feet, they laid his shoes lazily next to John's hip. The chair rolled back until it was balancing on the back two legs, and Seraph rested his arms behind his head.

"It was a through-and-through, Winnie. I knew where to hit you just right."

"You fuckin' shot me!" hissed John.

"Yeah, but according to hospital records, I was on my daily walk when I heard the gunshot in the warehouse and ran inside to check it out because I'm such a fine, upstanding citizen."

"You're not going to get away with this. I'll have you locked up behind bars and on your way to becoming some guy's bitch before long for attempted murder."

The legs of the chair collided with the tile floor with a _bang!_, the feet disappearing from the bed. Seraph still smirked good-naturedly, but his eyes were something different. They were burning into John with a fiery intensity.

"You do that, and I'll spill the beans about Mary and me to your lovely boys. How do you think they'd take it knowing that Mary was a reluctant hunter who ran away from home to have normal? How do you think they'd feel when they knew that Mary would hate you for dragging her precious boys into this life?"

"It'll be the last thing you ever do, Seraph."

"Oh, cute, John-John, keep practicing the whole badass persona, 'cause it's not quite convincing enough yet." Seraph licked his lips. "You know that you shouldn't underestimate me. I can make your life a living Hell. Fuck, Johnny-Boy, I wouldn't be surprised if you wound up in some padded room with the loons once I'm done with you. So think very carefully about the next words to come out of your mouth."

A lump worked its way into John's throat and seemed to expand until it throbbed painfully beneath his skin. He heard the stories about Seraph, some of them so infamous that he always believed they were spun tales. Spending time with Seraph, however, made him believe each ludicrous anecdote. The man sitting beside John was no longer a man. He was a twisted creature that had been tormented for so long, had walked into the heart of darkness and never made it out again, that all of his humanity had been burned away slowly.

"Dean and Sam are my life, Seraph, and I don't want them associating with you," spoke John slowly.

"I'm their uncle, their flesh and blood, Winchester, they deserve to know that."

"You're sick, Seraph. There's something not right with you. If you were a guy I could trust, a guy who was capable of loving them the way they deserve, you could be a part of their lives. You're not, though. I'm not even sure you're human any longer."

Seraph's mouth twitched out of its smirk. His lips curled back, his teeth bearing back in an animalistic fashion. That's when the sinister chuckle escaped his mouth. Everything seemed to be a joke to Seraph, everything never quite as serious as need be.

"That's funny to me, Winnie, really. You call me all twisted and sick, no longer human. Have you looked in a mirror lately? Have you seen _yourself _lately?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on, Winchester, you can't honestly say that you're still the man that you were before? Everything is black and white in your eyes, no shades of gray. You view me as evil, because I don't cry over spilled milk. You know what though, you don't cry either. Hell, Winnie, you've killed things before that didn't deserve bein' killed just like I have."

A scoff worked its way up John's throat and puffed out of his lips. Sure, he'd killed people before that didn't deserve to die. It was part of the gig. They were possessed, transformed, shifted - there was nothing left to do but save himself by shooting or stabbing them. If there was another way out, a way to get around the death and save the person, he would. Fact of the matter was that there wasn't a way to save them.

"At least I don't blow up buildings," John snapped.

"You think I'm all dark and twisted, you should see what those men do daily… or did would be more accurate."

"You killed human beings, Seraph."

"I killed monsters. They were barely human, Winchester."

John didn't feel like arguing with Seraph. It was a moot point because Seraph was one of the most stubborn people he had ever met - save perhaps Sammy.

"Stay away from my kids," John decided to say.

Seraph chuckled deep and low before standing up. Stretching, the twisted smirk worked its way upon his face once more. Trust was a hard thing to come by, especially for John Winchester. Seraph had tarnished any hope of trust by consistently acting in his usual deranged way.

"You forget that I know everything about you and the boys. You can run all you want, but I'll always be two steps in front of you."

"What do you want?"

When John was a little kid, his mother always told him to look both ways before crossing the street. Therefore, every time he came to a road, he looked left and he looked right. As the roads grew longer and more difficult, John never weighed the decisions much but just walked across the street. He made rash, spur of the moment choices without thinking much about what lie ahead. In that moment at the hospital, John was faced with a new road. He looked left and right while he waited for the moment where he'd have to make the choice.

"I want the demon that killed my parents, my uncle, and my kid sister."

"What do you want from me?"

"You, Winchester, oh, I want a lot from you."

Meanwhile, in the hospital lunchroom, the three young hunters sat huddled around one of the table munching slowly on burgers and fries. The tension between them was so thick and heavy that even a knife would not be able to sever it.

"What was my dad hunting?" questioned Dean.

His eyes bore into Joshua. He didn't quite believe that Joshua was kept in the dark, especially not when he looked like he'd seen a ghost when he laid eyes on Ben. He had grabbed Sam by the elbow, jerked him back. Sam didn't seem to think anything about it except Joshua being overprotective on John's orders. Dean had seen something more, a clear warning about Ben from John.

"A demon," Joshua sighed, "I _told_ you that. You knew that."

"You met Ben before, haven't you?" pressed Dean.

The kid struggled with himself. John made it clear: don't tell his boys anything but steer away from Ben. Except, honestly, Joshua didn't really know more than Dean and Sam knew. He was almost completely in the dark about everything that was happening, but there was this painfully hurt look in Dean's eyes since he was convinced that John trusted Joshua more than him.

"Look, all I know is that John met with this Ben guy. I wasn't involved in the meeting or anything else. I don't even know what they talked about. When we were leaving, John told me to stay away from him… that he was dangerous."

"Ben dangerous?" questioned Sam. "The guy saved Dad's life, called us so we wouldn't worry. How is a guy like that dangerous?"

"He lied to the hospital… to the police about what happened," Dean reasoned.

"How many times have _we_ lied to hospitals and police?"

"We don't even know _what_ exactly he lied about, Sammy."

Dean and Joshua could see it clearly in Sam's eyes, he trusted Ben for reasons that the older two hunters couldn't comprehend. Perhaps it was the fact that John had claimed Ben was dangerous that Sam automatically felt like he should trust the guy. Dean and Joshua heeded the warning while Sam went in the complete opposite direction to just piss his old man off.

"John was shot, Sam," Joshua reasoned. "I know I don't know much about this… stuff yet, but I think a gunshot wound probably means a person was involved."

"Stay away from this Ben guy," Dean ordered as though he were talking to a very small child.

"I trust him!" hissed Sam.

"This is about pissing Dad off, right? Come on, Sam, this could be dangerous. Stop being a selfish brat and just-"

"Just what? Follow an order blindly from Dad? Why do you always do what he says, huh, Dean?"

"Why? Because I trust the guy. Dad wouldn't tell us not to do something if he didn't think it was dangerous," Dean spoke in clipped tones.  
"This is bullshit."

"Oh, shut up, Sam, okay."

"Would both of you shut up?" snapped Joshua. "Take it up with John and not each other."

Both Dean and Sam snapped their attention to Joshua with looks of disgust. Never before had Joshua felt more like an outsider in the Winchester clan. John had taken him in with reluctant arms, but the guy made him feel wanted and safe. Dean and Sam were another story. They didn't want Joshua interfering with their lives, didn't want him playing the role of big brother and keeping the peace. Joshua felt like the teenagers were counting down the days until he was out of their lives forever.

"You're not a part of this," Dean snapped. "This is between my brother and me, all right, Cowboy?"

Joshua nodded numbly. The last thing he wanted was to be involved in some major fight between brothers, especially when they wanted nothing to do with him.

The next week was tense and stressful. Ben had disappeared, and John wouldn't talk about the guy or the hunt. The only information John would give Dean in private was that he screwed up, turned his back when he knew he shouldn't have and paid the price. He told Dean to stay away from Ben because not all hunters were like Pastor Jim or Caleb. Sam pushed more buttons than anyone thought was possible by questioning what exactly happened on the hunt. He wanted to know about the demon, Ben, what was really going on. John dodged the endless inquiry which only caused Sam's anger to soar.

After a week, John was out of the hospital with a sling and a dark perspective on life. He sent Dean, Sam, and Joshua out on a hunt three counties over. It was a vengeful spirit, a simple salt 'n burn that wouldn't take more than a couple days. John stood in the window of the apartment and watched Joshua's car drive away from the building. That's when the work started.

Seraph had given John a list of things he wanted with the intent to add more when need be. John wasn't one for following orders, but he didn't want to take the chance that the psycho would plant a bomb and blow up his family. The list taunted him, the items glaring up at him. He couldn't do it, couldn't work with Seraph. Sure, they shared a common goal, but John didn't know how far he could take it. In the end, John decided there were more important things to do than appease Seraph. The guy wouldn't dare hurt Dean or Sammy - hurt Mary's baby boys. John wanted Azazel's blood on his hands.

By the time the boys came back from the hunt, three days had passed and a mountain of research was tucked into the trunk of the Impala out of sight from his boys. Immediately, John sent the boys off to stay with Caleb Lyons for a few weeks with the order to improve their shots. John wanted Joshua supplied with weapons and wanted his sons to train. John said he was going on a hunt, a black dog a few states over, and would pick the boys up when he was through with a promise of a hunt the four of them could go on together. Nobody felt like arguing, even Sam who was usually the first one to bark out defiance in a heartbeat.

Except, when he made sure Joshua and the boys were on their way to Nebraska, John found the nearest abandoned warehouse in Denver in the dead of night. He laid the candles, drew the sigils, and spoke the Latin. What he didn't expect was the whole thing to work so easily. Seraph may be unhinged, but he certainly knew what he was talking about. The summoning ritual was simple, it would summon the closest demon to John's location. Standing up straight with a shotgun tucked away in his hands, he waited patiently for the demon to appear.

High heels clicked in the distance. Hazel eyes darted immediately to the noise just in time to see a young girl walk around the corner. She was young, perhaps nineteen or twenty years old, with a sweet baby face. Her chestnut hair was tied loosely at the nape of her neck.

John waited patiently as the demon inched forward, the damn heels clicking the entire way. He'd only have one chance, one shot to get it right. When that time came, a gunshot vibrated in the old warehouse. The possessed human lurched back, a hand clenching the wound in her shoulder. She hissed, her eyes clouding over black. John stood there on guard with the smoking gun drawn out in front of him.

"If I were human, that would have fucking hurt, Johnny."

The gun rose higher and another gunshot rang throughout the building. There was a loud _ping_ and a bucket tipped forward. Holy water cascaded down onto the demon as smoke and screams filled the musty air. John dashed forward, pushing the girl backwards onto the ground and right into a nearly completed Devil's Trap. Reaching for a can of spray paint, John sealed the trap quickly.

"Oh, Sweetheart, when I'm through with you, you'll be wishing that I only shot you full of rock salt."

Stepping into the shadows, John grabbed a wooden chair and dragged the legs across the floor. He pushed the chair into the trap and instructed the demon to have a seat, because they'd be there for a while. Next, John pulled out a set of ropes from his duffel bag a few feet away. Securely, he tied the demons wrists and ankles to the chair within the trap.

"Let's have a chat," suggested John.

"Let's not but say we did, huh?"

"What do you know about a demon named Azazel?"

"He does a mean Charlton Heston impersonation," she responded with a smirk.

"Do I look like I'm kidding around here, you black-eyed skank?"

The demon just chuckled, her head lolling back leisurely. John clenched his gun in his hand, his jaw tightening. He wasn't in the mood for games or jokes. He wanted information on Azazel and what this demon wanted with Sammy - what he had _done_ to his baby boy. This sonofabitch took his wife, and John wasn't prepared for it to take his boys.

"What are you going to do, John? Shoot me again?" she mocked. "You so _should_ just kill the meat suit."

"Oh, trust me, Sweetheart, I know how to make you hurt. You'll be begging for death when I'm through with you."

Reaching down into his duffel, John pulled out an iron knife and waved it teasingly in front of her. He gestured with the knife the buckets of holy water and a giant bag of salt situated a few feet away. John had a plan that involved torture, and he would keep torturing until he got some useful information. He wasn't messing around any longer.

The demon eyed the knife, the salt, the holy water. The girl's chest started to heave. Sure, the stuff wouldn't kill the demon, but it would hurt. Picking up a bucket of holy water, John splashed the demon. The clothes clung to her small frame as smoke seeped from the body and into the air.

"Tell me what I want to know!" demanded John.

"You know, some people believe God is just a name. He's a beacon that tells a person to be good or face an eternity in Hell. Some people believe that the idea of him is just there to keep social order somewhat sane, to not cause a total dystopia. It's the same in Hell, you know. Some demons believe Lucifer is just a name, that he's only there to keep things from going straight to the fan. Lucifer and God, they're real, Johnny. Ever heard of the War of Heaven? Look it up."

She was still breathing heavily as the smoke slowly continued to escape through the pores in her skin. Arms shook violently underneath the rope that was cutting into the girl's wrists. Blood caked the fibers of the twisted cords. The crimson dripped off the armrests and made small pools on the floor.

"I've heard this before from your friend, Abaddon."

"She's _not_ my friend. Hell's split. Three groups have emerged into the fray all fighting for power. There's Lucifer's Regiment - the group Abaddon belongs to. They follow Lucifer, and they're trying to save his throne from being taken. Then there's Azazel's Regiment. Azazel doesn't believe in Lucifer. He thinks that there needs to be a leader, a true leader. So he's building an army. Then there's Switzerland, per say, where I belong. We don't want to be thrown into the fray, don't want to choose sides because we'd rather just pick up the pieces after Azazel's and Lucifer's regiments kill each other. Except, bastards like you are making that increasingly difficult."

"Tell me about Azazel."

"I don't belong to him, Johnny."

Stepping forward, John dug his fingers into her cheeks to force her mouth open. With his free hand, he reached into his jacket to produce a canister of holy water. He poured the liquid into her mouth, and she immediately began to scream in agony. She squirmed against the bonds that held her to the chair. Smoke escaped through her pores in huge puffs of steam.

"Tell me what I want to know!"

Her head banged against the back of the chair. Small wisps of smoke escaped her lips as she gasped for breath. Her eyelids flickered, hot tears escaping down her cheeks. Her eyes trained on John as though not willing to give him the satisfaction that he was winning.

"You already know," she rasped. "You've heard the whispers, the rumors. Azazel's building an army of psychics, and he wants Sammy Winchester on the frontline."

"My son is not a psychic, you bitch."

"He was a quiet baby, yeah? He'd barely ever cry but rather just watched what was going on around him with rapid interest. Then he grew into a sweet kid. He was quiet around strangers mostly, but he could talk a mile a minute to the people he felt comfortable around. Then he got older and became moody. He started to pick fights about stupid things. That'll progress until he's about twenty-two. Then, he'll get an ability, perhaps he'll move things with his mind or get death premonitions or, if he's lucky, he'll be able to deep-fry a person in five seconds flat with a single touch. Then, one by one, Azazel will come for each psychic kid and draw them to the dark side. They'll fight for him - Azazel's Disposable Heroes who will rid the world of hunters so that those of Hell can live on the topsoil."

"You're wrong."

"I'm just reporting the news, Johnny."

John scoffed as his grip tightened around what was left of the holy water. She described Sammy to a tee, and that was what scared him the most. Psychics and war made his stomach churn but the very thought of Sammy being one of them… it made him want to die. John wanted nothing more than to _not_ believe what was being said. There was a nagging in his gut that told him this was the truth. He just prayed to whatever was out there that he could save Sammy in time.

"How do I stop it? How do I stop Sammy from…"

"Hell if I know. I bet Azazel's the only one who knows how… if that's even an option."

"You want another go with the holy water?" John watched as she visibly flinched. "I know how to make you hurt. I got some salt and an iron knife that I'm willing to try out on you as well. You're one of those lower demons, right? You're one of the grunts at bottom of the food chain."

A reply wasn't dignified, so John carefully pulled out the iron-bladed knife. He waved it in front of her, giving her one last chance to speak. When she didn't do so, he slowly dragged the blade just above her bound wrist. Blood swelled up - a dark contrast to her milky white skin. Her breathing became shallow.

"Hurts like a bitch, doesn't it? I hear demons don't like iron. I mean, you can't cross them or anything like that. I hear the best thing for a wound is salt. Shall we try that? I mean, talk about pouring salt in someone's wounds, huh?"

"I don't know anything more than I've already told you. I'm too low down to be entrusted with that kind of information," she barked. "I'm sure Abaddon would know. Ask her."

"You see, I would, but I don't have her right now. I have you."

He bent down low so that he was in her face. His hands clasped themselves over her bound wrists. Her jaw was tight as she glared at John, disgust flashing in her eyes.

"If you're at the bottom of the hierarchy, then you have a boss. Am I correct? You're enslaved. I'm sure your master would like his little demon back."

"You think they care?" she said bitterly. "There are thousands of us out there. I could simply be replaced. Designations are replaced all the time."

"Designations?"

"I'm in the lowest possible hierarchy. I'm not privileged enough to get my own name. I'm simply Legion 452," she spoke with malice lacing her tone. "'My name is Legion, for we are many.' Does that ring any bells, John-Boy?"

Pushing his weight off the chair, John sighed heavily. She was glaring at him through heavy eyelids as her whole chest heaved in exhaustion. The holy water did a number on the demon as it coursed through her body.

"Well, I might as well just send you back to hell then."

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out his journal. He flipped towards the back until he landed on the exorcism ritual that Pastor Jim had copied down years before. The last thing he wanted to do was send the only demon he had in his possession packing, but she didn't know anything. Something inside of John told him she was telling the truth.

"No, don't. Don't send me back to Hell. Just kill me. Kill me instead. Azazel's Regiment will rip me to shreds after everything I told you. Kill me!"

John considered the demon in front of him. Her eyes went completely black as she struggled with the rope that tied her in the chair. Powerless and helpless, she begged John to off her instead of sending her packing to the pit. That was a new one.

"I don't have anything to kill a demon. I just have this exorcism written in Latin," fake pity laced his words. "Sorry. Maybe next time though."

"You think Hell is just a word. You don't understand the magnitude of Hell. It's a place where you revisit your nightmares over and over again. Physical torture? You wish. There's no such thing. Mental and emotional torture? Oh, yeah, that's the special every single day of the week. You lose time as Hell slowly picks away at you until you're nothing but a babbling idiot on a mountain of flesh and bone. You _beg_ to become a demon. You _beg_ to be enslaved. You'll do anything just to get out."

"You begged to become a demon? What were you before?"

John closed the journal in what he hoped the demon would believe was a peace offering. His index finger held his place in the book however. He wanted to be ready to send the bitch packing if anything happened.

"Seriously, John, what did you think? You think we were just sprouted from spores or something?" she snapped. "Most demons, they were men at one point. They lived and breathed the air. I can still remember my mother's cooking if I concentrate enough."

A hollow chuckle escaped her lips as she stared dreamily pass John. Her arms and chest stopped moving. She became relaxed as she lost herself in the bittersweet memory.

"The lucky ones are the criminals. The ones who rape and murder. They get treated better, because they have that evil already inside of them. The rest of us, we get treated like crap until Hell burns away at our humanity."

"How did you earn a spot in Hell?"

"I made a deal," she whispered almost proudly. "I made a deal with a demon. Ten years later, I have hellhounds on my tail. Over a century later, I'm a demon. Several decades later, I'm tied to a chair spilling secrets to a jackass hunter. Such is life, I guess."

"What was your deal?"

"If I tell you, will you kill me instead of sending me back to Hell?"

John had no intention of killing the demon. He would if he could, but he didn't know how to kill one. All he knew was exorcisms. There were myths, legends of Samuel Colt making a demon-killing gun. There was no evidence that such a gun existed though.

He didn't really care what happened to the demon after their little chat. He wanted to know the workings of how a demon became what they are. There was a need to understand that demons were either evil by nature or grew into evil. He needed to know what drove this demon to kill his beloved Mary.

"Yeah," he lied with a soft smile.

"The Yellow Fever Epidemic swept through America in 1793. We lived right outside Philadelphia. People were dropping like flies left and right. At least five thousand people were killed in Philadelphia alone. A hoodoo lady from New Orleans worked for us. She was the first one to get the fever. She talked about crossroads and pacts. I summoned one, made a deal to spare my baby sister. She was only seven. Everyone in our household died but my sister and me. I cared for her for ten years before I was taken. It was worth it."

"So you're new to this whole demon business. Is that why you're so soft? You haven't been corrupted yet?"

"There are few of us who still remember our lives from before. We're a close-knit family who don't let each other forget. We can't forget or else we're just as low as all the other demons. We don't want to sink that low."

She looked up at him as though she were looking up at a savior, a man who would bring salvation to the downtrodden demons at the bottom of the hierarchy. Ignoring her hopeful eyes, John opened his journal to the exorcism page and started to read. The demon sat tied up in the chair with a shocked expression as the Latin syllables rolled off his tongue with ease. When she lurched involuntarily, a slew of curse words dripped out of her mouth. _You lying bastard_ was among them.

If John had a gun or a knife - _something_ - to kill the demon with, he would have. Although it wouldn't have been out of compassion or holding to his word. He would have murdered her because demons deserve to die. Demons shouldn't be privileged to walk upon the same soil or breathe the same air as humans.

When the deed was done, a jet of black escaped the girl's mouth and zoomed towards the floor. Turning his attention to the tied up girl, he smiled at her as non-threatening as possible. The now human again girl heaved her chest and stared uncertainly at John shoving the journal, holy water, and knife back into his jacket pocket. He slowly walked towards her to untie her wrists and ankles.

"It's okay. You're okay. This is all over now, I promise," he reassured her as his fingers fumbled with the rope. "My name is John. What's yours?"

"Al-Alice."

She was sobbing so hard her whole body shook. Her wrist twisted wildly as John untied it. She just wanted to be free from the chair.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Alice. I promise."

The girl collapsed out of the chair and into John's arms. Sobs wrecked her body as she fisted his jacket. Snaking an arm under her legs, John heaved the light girl into his arms and carried her out of the warehouse to the Impala. He'd come back later for the equipment. All that mattered right now was getting Alice to the hospital.

* * *

Author's Notes - Here's yet another chapter of the story. Only one more chapter to go before everything is wrapped up. As a side note, canon Bela back-story will not be used in 'The Dark Horse' series. I don't care if you like Bela or not, but she will make an appearance or two in the series so live with it or just stop reading. It's not in this story, but in future stories - so far two are planned with her in it and one where she makes a small cameo. Anyways, special thanks to Shannon for editing and don't forget to leave a review.


	6. Anomaly

**"The Dark Horse"**

**"Chapter Six: Anomaly"**

Anomalies were what made people different from one another. People have their own quirks, expressions, interests, looks. Except some people had a wider range of anomalies that was borderline something else entirely. John had seen people deviate from themselves, killed people who had developed an anomaly unlike any other. Werewolves, shape shifters, demons… name it and John Winchester has probably killed it or attempted to kill it. He'd seen everything from demons to ghosts to things that real nightmares were made out of. Hell, he'd even seen psychics who had empathy up the butt or could see energy. He'd never heard of psychics who could deep-fry a person in five seconds flat, had dreams of the future, could heal people with one touch, play Simon Says to make others their minions… it was ridiculous. What was even more unbelievable was that his little boy could be one of these extraordinary anomalies who no one had ever seen before. His little boy who had the power of demons.

He fought the idea and looked for loopholes in the Intel he was given. Sammy wasn't a killing machine, wasn't some freaky psychic. He was just a pain-in-the-ass teenager who had a mouth full of attitude and wore his heart on his sleeve. The kid took everything as a personal insult, took every lie as an ultimate sin. John lied to his kids to protect them. Dean saw that even though he didn't agree with it. Sam, on the other hand, took it as betrayal and a personal jab at his ego. Sam was selfish and stubborn, but he wasn't a murdering freak.

All John wanted was the honest-to-goodness truth so that he could protect both his sons. If Sammy was some sort of psychic, then John would do whatever it would take to save his baby boy from going dark side.

Apparently, if one has the right ritual and the right name, one can summon any demon of choice. John wasn't much for summoning evil to come visit him but was rather a guy who liked to surprise said evil. The demon would have the upper hand, come prepared with bodyguards and a plan. John would be the one out of the loop, the one scrambling to outsmart. He didn't really care about what could happen because for some insane reason he sorta trusted this demon named Abaddon. That, within itself, was beyond dangerous.

Speaking the Latin in a low rumble over the chalk marks on the warehouse floor, John stroke a match and let it drop into a bowl of sulfur. Flames exploded briefly as he continued the incantation. Before he had a chance to finish the ritual, a cold breeze washed through the room and blew out the fire. John stilled, his hand snaking behind him to grab the pistol tucked away in his jeans.

"Abaddon felt the tug and decided she didn't want to show," a male voice called.

Whipping around, John spotted a man inching towards him. He was tall with cropped chestnut hair. His hazel eyes rolled up to reveal vibrant orange irises before rolling back to its usual color.

"What do you want?" John demanded as he trained the gun on the demon.

"I want you to put the gun away before you kill the meat suit, and then I want you to realize what your role is in this little thing we call war."

John lowered the gun slightly but still kept it in front of him in case he needed to shoot. Bullets were essentially ineffectual with demons, but there was some comfort just to have the metal piece with him.

"What's my role then?"

"To kill Azazel," the demon replied simply. "In order to do that, you need to come to terms with the fact that Samuel was marked by Azazel when he was a baby."

"Not this bullshit again."

John knew Sam and Dean like the back of his hand, and he would know if his younger son was some sort of freak. Sam was a lot of things but psychic was definitely not one of them. He didn't see the dead everywhere, have premonitions, or have some other sort of strange power. No, Sammy Winchester was just a pain in John's ass ninety percent of the time, but he wasn't special in some sort of freaky way.

"My colleagues and I have been tracking children marked by Azazel for a little over a century. He never quite seems to get a batch that he's content with until now. Our spies say he's quite satisfied with these children, knows that this is the batch he's been waiting for. Rumor has it there are a couple that he's taken a special interest in - Samuel being at the top of his list along with a boy named Jake and a girl named Lily. Azazel believes that one of those three is the one he's been searching for."

"Searching for… what?"

"To lead him into prominence."

John scoffed. This whole thing was getting beyond ridiculous. Since he started hunting, he never thought that'd he'd actually stand around and have a civil conversation with evil. Except, in the past few years, he'd been talking with demons about aiding them in war. He had no idea why he kept putting up with it, sneaking around his children in order to meet with them for their help.

"Right, this Azazel doesn't believe Satan's real and wants to run the gun show down in Hell."

"Yes and no," the demon replied. "Azazel doesn't want to rule Hell, doesn't want his headquarters to be located there. Anyone, demon or not, who would willingly stay in Hell is completely out of their mind. No, Azazel wants to rule the soil that you walk upon and wants Hell to be his prison for those who don't follow him."

"Alright, let's say that I bite. Why are you demons coming to me and not someone else?"

"Because you are the dark horse of the hunting community. People underestimated you and you proved them wrong by rising to the occasion. We need someone who isn't seen as a threat but is a very powerful weapon. Plus, you're playing emotional in this with Samuel's involvement."

"Let's get something straight, Sam isn't a part of this!"

The very thought of Sam possibly being involved in war and this psychic business was enough to drive John insane. His boys were his life. Without them, he was sure that he would have killed himself after Mary's death. There was no way that he would have survived so long without his kids, his touchstones.

"You know that there have been other house fires where mothers have died. Check farther back than 1983. You'll find your wife's name on that list - nursery fire and parents dead. You see, it's only when Azazel is caught in the act does he take action."

"Caught in the act of what exactly?"

"These children are picked because they're smart, they're special. They all have potential in them. Based on our Intel, Azazel gives these children his blood… enhances their potential."

"Potential for what?" demanded John. "This cryptic crap you got going on, it's not really working for me."

"You won't believe me, won't believe anyone until you see it with your own eyes. That's the way you are, John." The demon took another step forward. "You had it all figured out years ago. Your wife with her enchantments around the house, the salt containers in every room… you had your suspicions but you always tried to push that into the back of your mind. You didn't want to believe until Azazel attacked your family. Now, you're a gung-ho supernatural hunter."

John didn't know what to say to that. Mary had her quirks with salt and symbols and silver. Everyone had his or her own quirks though, and he never thought she was some supernatural hunter in some double life she was leading. In that moment with this demon, he just wanted to say fuck it all and leave. What if he was right though? How could he walk away from that and _not_ protect his son?

"Okay, say that I believe you and I wanna hunt down this Azazel. I don't have a way to kill the sonofabitch. I can't shoot him, can't stab him, and he's not just gonna sit around waiting to be exorcised. Am I just supposed to wander on into battle with my thumbs up my ass and pray that he just drops dead?"

"There's a gun that was crafted by Samuel Colt…"

The first thing that John learned about demons was that they were masters at telling manipulative lies. He heard the tale of Samuel Colt creating a gun that could kill anything supernatural - even demons. Hunters liked to tell tall tales, like to spread rumors and gossip. John had heard several variations of the Colt gun for years, but he never once believed that it actually existed. It was a legendary anecdote that rivaled King Arthur's Excalibur and Beowulf's Hrunting. Some demon was telling him that the Colt was real and out there somewhere. How was John supposed to believe that?

The thought of this mystical gun wouldn't leave John's mind as he drove to Lincoln, Nebraska to pick up his sons from Caleb Lyons. Years ago, John had met Caleb through Pastor Jim. They became quick friends, and John had trusted him completely from the start. Back when he first started to hunt, trust came desperately and easily. As the years wore on, trust seemed to become a rarity. He always second guessed peoples' actions, was always on guard. There were only a select few people that John still trusted with his life, with the lives of his children.

"If you look up my name in the phonebook, is it under fucking babysitter?" questioned Caleb Lyons as he answered his front door to see John Winchester standing there in all his glory.

"They're hardly babies anymore," countered John with a smirk. "It's more like hanging out than sitting."

Stepping aside, Caleb allowed the older hunter to cross the threshold of his home. The house looked different since the last time John had been there. It was homier with ruffles and curtains - definitely had that female vibe going on. His eyes swept the living room until they landed on a leggy brunette lounging on the sofa with a small bump under her breasts.

"You're pregnant?" John questioned. "The poor kid is gonna to have Lyons as a father. What were you thinking?"

The woman unfolded herself from the couch and walked towards the hunters in the foyer area. She stopped short of John, a smile flashing brightly on her face, as she extended her arms to pull the man into an embrace.

"John Winchester," she greeted fondly.

"Riley Fontaine," he replied as he returned the hug, "I haven't seen you since your wedding when you went temporarily insane enough to marry this poor bastard."

"Can't you and Caleb ever play nice?"

The embrace broke, and John scanned the house once more for his sons. Joshua's car was absent from the driveway, but he honestly couldn't see Dean or Sam going anywhere with the kid. Dean was fiercely protective of his family and immediately deemed Joshua as a threat.

"Where are my boys?"

"Shooting range with your long lost son," Caleb supplied.

"He's not my son," replied John. "I'm just training him."

"Since when does the great and fierce John Winchester take in strays?"

Even though John had been pissed about taking in the Harper kid in the beginning, he was slowly warming up to the kid. He saw so much of himself in Joshua that it was just impossible to ignore the kid and let him fend for himself. There was a part of John that wanted to see the kid get his revenge, to succeed.

"He went through a tough time," John replied.

"Yeah, I know, he's quite the talker," responded Caleb.

"Caleb," Riley said strictly, "he's been through a lot and you can't honestly be _that_ insensitive."

"Says the social worker," bit Caleb under his breath. "You and Johnny wanna take on that kid as your little pet project, then go ahead. I ain't jumping through hoops for him though."

"I am part of the Department of Social Services, and I have given my life to protecting children! I'm sorry, but I thought you were the kind of guy who was out there to help people too given the fact that you've dedicated your whole life to hunting things an-and saving people!"

John could remember the first time he met Riley Fontaine. He had been hunting with Caleb and Bobby Singer up in Maine when Sam was six and Dean was eleven. A rawhead had been kidnapping children - children that had been part of families under investigation by the Department of Social Services. They were abused kids who had been taken by a monster. Riley had been rookie in the scene and started to get in way over her head. Caleb, the fool, had confided in her to find the kids. It worked out in the end despite the fact that Bobby swore he was gonna kill Caleb for blabbering about hunting to a civilian.

"Harper isn't your kind of problem, Rye, you get that, don't you?" whispered Caleb.

"He's an orphan who watched his sister get mauled to death. He's not a problem, Caleb. He's dying inside, barely holding on, and he has this wild fantasy in his head that hunting is going to heal these wounds."

A car pulled into the driveway, so John cleared his throat to stop the bickering. The last thing Joshua needed was to walk into the house and find two people arguing about him. The front door opened moments later to reveal Joshua, Dean, and Sammy hitting it up like long time friends. One minute, Dean would be harassing Joshua and the next being buddies with him. John blamed himself for the actions of his oldest son. When Dean was stressed or hunting, he tended to trust no one. During downtime, it was easier for him to get along with others.

"Hey, boys," greeted John.

"Dad!"

Naturally, Dean was the one to greet his old man and rush forward with concern shining in his eyes. Sammy lingered back by the front door with defiance implanted in his stance. Joshua slowly made his way towards John, a half-crooked smirk on his face.

"Are you okay?" questioned Dean.

"I'm fine, Dude," he responded with a hand on his son's shoulder. "You guys doin' alright?"

"We're fine, Dad…"

Squeezing Dean's shoulder tightly, John smiled knowingly at his oldest before turning his gaze onto the two other boys.

"What's going on, John? Where are we headed to next?" asked Joshua eagerly as he stepped forward.

"There's something that I gotta do with m'boys, Josh," replied John. "I want you to go to Pastor Jim's and we'll meet you there in a week, okay?"

Never before had John watched a face drop so suddenly. Disappointment and rejection was clearly written across Joshua's face as he nodded numbly at the news. John motioned for Dean and Sam to get upstairs and pack up. They treaded up the stairs while John turned towards Joshua.

"Look, Joshua, you're a great kid. I'm not ditching you. I just - a lot has happened lately and the boys need to meet their grandfather, you know? It's about time that they know their family... where they came from. I'll pick you up at Jim's though, I promise." John clapped the kid on the shoulder. "Now, go pack up. You can follow me until we get to the center of Iowa. You'll go north to Minnesota, and I'll go east to Indiana."

Joshua nodded with a weak smile before heading upstairs to pack up his things. Riley followed him up to help the boys pack while Caleb lingered behind. John tried to avoid the gaze of his friend. Too many times in the past had John badmouthed his own father in the company of the younger hunter.

"I thought you hated your old man," observed Caleb with suspicion lacing his words.

"They met Benjamin Seraph."

That was all John could force himself to say. The whole situation was complicated, and he didn't really want to explain it when his boys could wander downstairs at any second. Except, the name didn't really quench Caleb's thirst on the subject.

"Seraph? He's that loony hunter who wrestled a Wendigo to the ground and took on an army of spooks, right?" asked Caleb with a chuckle. "I mean, who knows if the stories are true, but there're some pretty crazy ones out there like that."

"He's my… brother-in-law and the boys don't know that," rushed John. "Don't say anything, okay? I wanna keep this on the DL and not have them find out."

"Fuck me."

"No, really, I don't think I will, Caleb," snapped John. "Now can you keep this between you and me?"

"Seraph is a relative of yours?" the younger hunter clarified with a low whistle. "Seriously? Man, I thought my family was screwed to hell, but yours just keeps topping the cake."

"You mention this to anyone, Caleb, and I will not hesitate to help land your cocky ass in the hospital. You hear me?"

"Fuck, Johnny, I consider you to be some kind of wacky brother, uncle, and father all rolled up into one scrumptious package of brooding eyes and scowling looks." Caleb smirked. "Of course I'll keep your dark secret."

John really didn't know what possessed him to take Dean and Sammy to Indiana to meet his father. Perhaps it was the whole deal with Seraph that got him thinking about his dad. If Seraph met the boys, then didn't Gabriel Winchester deserve to meet them as well? In fact, John would rather have his father meet his boys than Seraph any day.

When they arrived at the Veterans Retirement Home in Valparaiso, the nurses didn't quite believe their eyes at seeing how much Sam and Dean grew which was odd since John didn't know that his father, let alone the nurses, knew what his sons looked like let alone their names. In fact, the nurses _fawned_ over Dean and Sammy. They said how _happy good ole Gabe_ would be when he saw his family'd dropped by. It was uncomfortable to say the least since John wouldn't have put the word 'happy' in the same sentence as his father. 'Bitter' and 'mean' would have been a better fit in John's mind.

They were led into a game room where residents were playing cards, chess, and other games. John spotted his father in the middle of the room sitting by himself at a table playing a card game. Reaching out, John wrapped one arm around Dean's shoulders and the other around Sammy's shoulders. He wasn't going to let them out of his sight.

"John," Gabriel said indifferently without even looking up from his card game, "what brings you here to see a dying old man?"

"Thought you might want to meet your grandsons; but if you'd rather not, then we'll just go."

Gabriel looked up, his bushy eyebrows raising high on his forehead as he took in the two boys on either side of John. Sam fidgeted against John's side, an awkward smile crossing his face. Breaking away from his father, Sam sat down at the table across from his grandfather. Dean, on the other hand, stayed next to his father unmoving. He had no desire to meet a man that his father didn't seem to like in the least. That simple fact unnerved John more than he was willing to admit since family was the most important thing in his eldest son's life.

"Hi, I'm Sam," he blurted out excitedly. "It's g-great to finally meet you."

John could see his youngest practically glowing in anticipation to gain information on his father to use against him in future fights. There was really no rhyme or reason as to why John brought his sons to meet their estranged grandfather. After meeting Seraph, he felt desperate for the boys to meet someone actually sane in their family even though neither knew Seraph was their uncle.

"So you would be around fifteen now, aren't you? Beating the girls off with a stick, Boy?"

Dean snorted next to John, his head shaking. John gripped his son's shoulder tighter. A nice pink tone sprouted almost immediately on Sammy's face as he awkwardly smiled at his grandfather.

"Uh, n-not so much," he replied. "I'm more of a-a studying kind of guy."

"Gotta let loose and have some fun too, you know what I mean?" Gabe chuckled. "I could tell you stories about your father that would make you never look at him the same."

"Seriously? Would you can it, Father," snapped John, "… I mean, Sir."

As soon as the words left John's mouth, he knew his father was going to be on his ass. He was raised in strict military code and that meant never disrespecting his father no matter how much he deserved it. Hell, he instilled the same code on his own sons. Dean always followed it but Sammy could care less.

"Boys, why don't you leave me and your dad alone for a bit, yeah? There's a pop machine 'round the corner."

The goofy smile disappeared nearly instantly from Sam's face as he slowly stood up and followed his brother out of the room. John took the recently vacated seat.

"I need your help," whispered John, "or advice. I dunno which."

"This is a first, Johnny," replied Gabe. "I haven't seen or spoken with you since your mother died, but somehow your pretty wife managed to send letters and pictures every month."

The words left John frozen in his seat. Mary had sent his father pictures and letters while alive? It seemed almost unfathomable that he wouldn't notice it over the short years of their marriage. What really was the kicker of the whole thing that Mary felt John's estrangement from his father was uncalled for when her estrangement from her family was perfectly justified. Back then, John felt his wife was hypocritical. As the years passed and John became more enlightened about her past, the estrangement became reasonable.

"Figured somethin' was wrong when the letters and pictures stopped coming in '83. Did some research and found out about the fire and Mary's death. I'm sorry about all that, John, she was a good girl." Gabe cleared his throat as he gathered the cards together in a pile. "Had some old friends of mine keep a look out for you and the boys to make sure you were all right. Nobody ever seemed to be able to locate you, pick up your trail."

"You tried to find us?"

Pushing the cards away, Gabe looked up at his son with remorse shining brightly in his eyes. Growing up, there were a lot of things John didn't understand about being a father and the choices they made. When he first found out Mary was pregnant with Dean, he vowed he'd never be that distant and cold father like Gabriel Winchester. As the boys grew up, John slowly began to empathize with his father a bit.

"You're m'boy. I know I made mistakes that you think are unforgivable, but that don't change blood, boy." Gabe leaned back in his chair. "Wanna talk about Mary?"

"You wouldn't believe me even if I wanted to."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Something… something started that fire. Something murdered my wife, and I'm just beginning to understand it all."

"John, what are you talking about?"

"Look, you were never much of a father, but I _need_ you to be a father to me now. There's someone after Sammy, and I don't know what to do. What am I supposed to do?"

"You do what any good father would," Gabe spoke softly with a frown etched in his eyebrows. "You kill the sonofabitch who is after your son. You protect him. The golden rule of it all, Johnny, a father never allows his son to know the sacrifices he made for him."

John wondered, perhaps, if there was a deeper meaning behind his father's final words. There wasn't much time to press Gabe for more details since Dean and Sammy were making their way towards the table. They each pulled up a seat and sat down around the table. It was the first time that all of the living Winchester men were together. All Gabe could do was glance between his grandsons and ask questions about their lives. Sammy slipped easily into the conversation, eager to tell tales to his long lost grandfather about school and himself. After awhile, Dean grew comfortable with the man and started to interject Sam's rants with comments of his own. John leaned back into his chair and watched his family interact as if they were just like any other normal family.

John let all of his worries be put to rest. He pushed Seraph and his ultimatums to the back of his mind. The whole demon war and Azazel business seemed to slip away. His constant worry for Sammy was put at ease. For the hour and a half that the four Winchester men sat around that tiny table, John felt truly happy for the first time in a long time.

* * *

Author's Notes - The final chapter of this story is finally up. I've rewritten this chapter about a hundred times, and I think I'm happy with it at last. Thank you to everyone who has stayed with me during my long stretches of no updates. It means a lot to me. Special thanks to Shannon for editing for me. Don't forget to leave a little review.


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